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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions 


Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


1980 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Physical 
features  of  this  copy  which  may  alter  any  of  the 
images  in  the  reproduction  are  checked  below. 


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Coloured  covers/ 
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L'Institut  a  microfilm*  ie  mellleur  exemplaire 
qu'll  lui  a  M  possible  de  se  procurer.  Certains 
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reproduction  sont  notfo  ci-dessous. 


D 


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de  la  distortion  Ie  long  de  la  marge 
int6rieure) 


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a 

ns 
la 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
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filming  contract  specifications. 


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or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"),  whichever 
applies. 

The  original  copy  was  borrowed  from,  and 

filmed  with,  the  kind  consent  of  the  following 

institution:    „ 

Scott  Library, 

York  University 

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in  one  exposure  are  filmed  beginning  in  the 
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following  diagrams  illustrate  the  method: 


Les  Images  sulvantes  ont  6t4  reproduces  avec  le 
plus  grand  soln,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet*  de  I'exemplaire  film«,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fllmage. 

Un  des  symboles  sulvants  apparaftra  sur  la  der- 
nidre  Image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le  cas: 
le  symbole  — ►  signifie  "A  SUrVRE",  le  symbols 
V  signifie  "FIN". 

L'exemplaire  fiim6  fut  reprodult  grAce  A  la 
g«n«rosit6  de  I'dtabiissement  prAteur 
suivant  : 

Scott  Library, 

York  University 

Les  cartes  ou  les  planches  trop  grandes  pour  Atre 
reprodultes  en  un  seul  cllchA  sont  filmAes  A 
partir  de  Tangle  supArieure  gauche,  de  gauche  ^< 
drolte  et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcesnaire.  Le  diagramme  suivant 
illustre  la  mAthode  : 


1  2  3 


1 


6 


REVENGE ! 


''^% 
,;;* 


BOOKS  BY  ROBERT  BARR 

In  the  Midst  of  Alarms 
The  Face  and  the  Mask 
A  Woman  Intervenes 
One  Day's  Courtship 
Revengfel 


m 


1  HAD  iiii';  sAiic  iii.o 


UN   (H'KN."— /'(/.V^'  /<5j. 


REVENGE! 


BY 


ROBERT  BARR 

AUTHOR  OF  "in  THK  MIDST  OF   AI.AKMS,"    "  THB   PACK   AND   THR   MASK,' 
"a  WOMAN   INTFRVENKS,"    "  FROM    WHOSK   BOl'RNK,"    ETC. 


WITH  TWELVE  ILLUSTRATIONS 
BV  LANCELOT  SPEED,  STANLEY  WOOD,  Jt  G.  G.  MANTON 


NEW   YORK    AND   LONDON 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,    1894,  189s  AND  1896 

By  ROBERT  BARR 

COPYRIGHT,   1896 

By  FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


TO 


JAMES  SAMSON,  M.D. 


CONTENTS. 


AN  ALPINE  DIVORCE       . 

WHICH  WAS  THE  MURUEUER? 

A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION 

AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP      . 

THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD 

OVER  THE  STELVIO  PASS 

THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN 

"  AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME 

THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY 

NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE 

A  MODERN  SAMSON 

A  DEAL  ON    CHANGE       . 

TRANSFORMATION 

THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK. 

THE  UNDERSTUDY 

"OUT  OF  THUN"   . 

A  DRAMATIC  POINT 

TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONI  KS 

THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD 

PURIFICATION  .... 


PAOR 

£ 

9 

17 
31 

44 
61 

n 
90 
II I 
128 
140 
149 
166 
182 
205 
227 
252 
268 
278 
297 


I 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


« I  HAD  THE  SAFE  BLOWN  OPEN  "       . 

THE    CORD    DANGLED  ABOUT  A  FOOT 
ABOVE  THE  POLICEMAN'S  HEAD    . 

DUPRfi    LAUNCHED    HIS    BOMB     OUT 
INTO  THE  NIGHT  .... 

«DO   NOT    PROCEED    FURTHER   WITH 
EXECUTION"  .  .  .  . 

HIS   FIRST  ACT  WAS   TO    DISCHARGE 
EVERY  SERVANT  .... 

*«WHEN   YOU    PRESS  THE  IVORY  BUT- 
TON, I  FIRE"  .... 

WIPING  ITS  BLADE  ON  THE  CLOTHES 
OF  THE  PROSTRATE  MAN 

"  f  WILL  DRAW  A  PLAN  " 

HE     THREW     ASIDE     BUSHES,    BRAM- 
BLES AND  LOGS 

*'WHAT  HAS  HAPPENED?" 

SAM  LOOKED  SAVAGELY  AROI/ND  HIM 

"  MY  GOD,   YOU    WERE    RIGHT   AFTER 
ALL!" 


PAGE 

Frontispiece 

28 

38 

45 
57 

69 

82 

87 
162 

191 
267 


rr 


/ 


REVENGE! 


AN  ALPINE  DIVORCE. 

In  some  natures  there  are  no  half-tones ;  nothing 
but  raw  primary  colours.  John  Bodman  was  a  man 
who  was  always  at  one  extreme  or  the  other.  This 
probably  would  have  mattered  little  had  he  not  mar- 
ried a  wife  whose  nature  was  an  exact  duplicate  of 
his  own. 

Doubtless  there  exists  in  this  world  precisely  the 
right  woman  for  any  given  man  to  marry\  and  vice 
versd;  but  when  you  consider  that  a  human  being 
has  the  opportunity  of  being  acquainted  with  only  a 
few  hundred  people,  and  out  of  the  few  hundred  that 
there  are  but  a  dozen  or  less  whom  he  knows  inti- 
mately, and  out  of  the  dozen,  one  or  two  friends  at 
most,  it  will  easily  be  seen,  when  we  remember  the 
number  of  millions  who  inhabit  this  world,  that  prob- 
ably, since  the  earth  was  created,  the  right  man  has 
never  yet  met  the  right  woman.  The  mathematical 
chances  are  all  against  such  a  meeting,  and  this  is  the 
reason  that  divorce  courts  exist.  Marriage  at  best  is 
but  a  compromise,  and  if  two  people  happen  to  be 
united  who  are  of  an  uncompromising  nature  there  is 
trouble. 


REVENGE! 


Ill: 


In  the  lives  of  these  two  young  people  there  was 
no  middle  distance.  The  result  was  bound  to  be 
either  love  or  hate,  and  in  the  case  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bodman  it  was  hate  of  the  most  bitter  and  arrogant 
kind. 

In  some  parts  of  the  world  incompatibility  of  tem- 
per is  considered  a  just  cause  for  obtaining  a  divorce, 
but  in  England  no  such  subtle  distinction  is  made, 
and  so  until  the  wife  became  criminal,  or  the  man  be- 
came both  criminal  and  cruel,  these  two  were  linked 
together  by  a  bond  that  only  death  could  sever. 
Nothing  can  be  worse  than  this  state  of  things,  and 
the  matter  was  only  made  the  more  hopeless  by  the 
fact  that  Mrs.  Bodman  lived  a  blameless  life,  and  her 
husband  was  no  worse,  but  rather  better,  than  the 
majority  of  men.  Perhaps,  however,  that  statement 
held  only  up  to  a  certain  point,  for  John  Bodman  had 
reached  a  state  of  mind  in  which  he  resolved  to 
get  rid  of  his  wife  at  all  hazards.  If  he  had  been  a 
poor  man  he  would  probably  have  deserted  her,  but 
he  was  rich,  and  a  man  cannot  freely  leave  a  prosper- 
ing business  because  his  domestic  life  happens  not  to 
be  happy. 

When  a  man's  mind  dwells  too  much  on  any  one 
subject,  no  one  can  tell  just  how  far  he  will  go.  The 
mind  is  a  delicate  instrument,  and  even  the  law  rec- 
ognises that  it  is  easily  thrown  from  its  balance. 
Bodman 's  friends — for  he  had  friends — claim  that 
his  mind  was  unhinged  ;  but  neither  his  friends  nor 
his  enemies  suspected  the  truth  of  the  episode,  which 
turned  out  to  be  the  most  important,  as  it  was  the 
most  ominous,  event  in  his  life. 


AN  ALPINE  DIVORCE.  3 

Whether  John  Bodman  was  sane  or  insane  at  the 
time  he  made  up  his  mind  to  murder  his  wife,  will 
never  be  known,  but  there  was  certainly  craftiness  in 
the  method  he  devised  to  make  the  crime  appear  the 
result  of  an  accident.  Nevertheless,  cunning  is  often 
a  quality  in  a  mind  that  has  gone  wrong. 

Mrs.  Bodman  well  knew  how  much  her  presence 
afflicted  her  husband,  but  her  nature  was  as  relentless 
as  his,  and  her  hatred  of  him  was,  if  possible,  more 
bitter  than  his  hatred  of  her.  Wherever  he  went  she 
accompanied  him,  and  perhaps  the  idea  of  murder 
would  never  have  occurred  to  him  if  she  had  not  been 
so  persistent  in  forcing  her  presence  upon  him  at  all 
times  and  on  all  occasions.  So,  when  he  announced  to 
her  that  he  intended  to  spend  the  month  of  July  in 
Switzerland,  she  said  nothing,  but  made  her  prepara- 
tions for  the  journey.  On  this  occasion  he  did  not 
protest,  as  was  usual  with  him,  and  so  to  Switzerland 
this  silent  couple  departed. 

There  is  an  hotel  near  the  mountain-tops  which 
stands  on  a  ledge  over  one  of  the  great  glaciers.  It 
is  a  mile  and  a  half  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  and  it 
stands  alone,  reached  by  a  toilsome  road  that  zigzags 
up  the  mountain  for  six  miles.  There  is  a  wonderful 
view  of  snow-peaks  and  glaciers  from  the  verandahs  of 
this  hotel,  and  in  the  neighbourhood  are  many  pic- 
turesque walks  to  points  more  or  less  dangerous. 

John  Bodman  knew  the  hotel  well,  and  in  happier 
days  he  had  been  intimately  acquainted  with  the 
vicinity.  Now  that  the  thought  of  murder  arose  in 
his  mind,  a  certain  spot  two  miles  distant  from  this 
inn  continually  haunted  him.     It  was  a  point  of  view 


■ 


4  REVENGKI 

overlooking  everything,  and  its  extremity  was  pro- 
tected by  a  low  and  crumbling  wall.  He  arose  one 
morning  at  four  o'clock,  slipped  unnoticed  out  of  the 
hotel,  and  went  to  this  point,  which  was  locally 
named  the  Hanging  Outlook.  His  memory  had 
served  him  we!  It  was  exactly  the  spot,  he  said  to 
himself.  The  nountain  which  rose  up  behind  it  was 
wild  and  precip  tous.  There  were  no  inhabitants  near 
to  overlook  thi  place.  The  distant  hotel  was  hidden 
by  a  shoulder  of  rock.  The  mountains  on  the  other 
side  of  the  valle  were  too  far  away  to  make  it  possible 
for  any  casual  tourist  or  native  to  see  what  was  going 
on  on  the  Hanging  Outlook.  Far  down  in  the  val- 
ley the  only  town  in  view  seemed  like  a  collection  of 
little  toy  houses. 

One  glance  over  the  crumbling  wall  at  the  edge 
was  generally  sufficient  for  a  visitor  of  even  the 
strongest  nerves.  There  was  a  sheer  drop  of  more 
than  a  mile  straight  down,  and  at  the  distant  bottom 
were  jagged  rocks  and  stunted  trees  that  looked,  in 
the  blue  haze,  like  shrubbery. 

**  This  is  the  spot,"  said  the  man  to  himself,  "  and 
to-morrow  morning  is  the  time." 

John  Bodman  had  planned  his  crime  as  grim  j  and 
relentlessly,  and  as  coolly,  as  ever  he  had  concocted 
a  deal  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  There  was  no 
thought  in  his  mind  of  mercy  for  his  unconscious 
victim.     His  hatred  had  carried  him  far. 

The  next  morning  after  breakfast,  he  said  to  his 
wife  :  "I  intend  to  take  a  walk  in  the  mountains.  Do 
you  wish  to  come  with  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  briefly. 


AN  ALPINE  DIVORCE.  5 

"  Very  well,  then,"  he  said ;  "  I  shall  be  ready  at 
nine  o'clock." 

"  I  shall  be  ready  at  nine  o'clock,"  she  repeated 
after  him. 

At  that  hour  they  left  the  hotel  together,  to  which 
he  was  shortly  to  return  alone.  They  spoke  no  word 
to  each  other  on  their  way  to  the  Hanging  Outlook. 
The  path  was  practically  level,  skirting  the  mountains, 
for  the  Hanging  Outlook  was  not  much  higher  above 
the  sea  than  the  hotel. 

John  Bodman  had  formed  no  fixed  plan  for  his 
procedure  when  the  place  was  reached.  He  resolved 
to  be  guided  by  circumstances.  Now  and  then  a 
strange  fear  arose  in  his  mind  that  she  might  cling 
to  him  and  possibly  drag  him  over  the  precipice  with 
her.  He  found  himself  wondering  whether  she  had 
any  premonition  of  her  fate,  and  one  of  his  reasons 
for  not  speaking  was  the  fear  that  a  tremor  in  his 
voice  might  possibly  arouse  her  suspicions.  He  re- 
solved that  his  action  should  be  sharp  and  sudden,, 
that  she  might  have  no  chance  either  to  help  herself, 
or  to  drag  him  with  her.  Of  her  screams  in  that 
desolate  region  he  had  no  fear.  No  one  could  reach 
the  spot  except  from  the  hotel,  and  no  one  that 
morning  had  left  the  house,  even  for  an  expedition  to 
the  glacier — one  of  the  easiest  and  most  popular  trips 
from  the  place. 

Curiously  enough,  when  they  came  within  sight  of 
the  Hanging  Outlook,  Mrs.  Bodman  stopped  and 
shuddered.  Bodman  looked  at  her  through  the 
narrow  slits  of  his  veiled  eyes,  and  wondered  again 
ii*   she  had   ar  '  suspicion.     No   one   can   tell,    when 


1 


REVENGE! 


two  people  walk  closely  together,  what  unconscious 
communication  one  mind  may  have  with  another. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked  gruffly.  *'  Are  you 
tired  ?  " 

"John,"  she  cried,  with  a  gasp  in  her  voice,  calling 
him  by  his  Christian  name  for  the  first  time  in  years, 
"  don't  you  think  that  if  you  had  been  kinder  to  me  at 
first,  things  might  have  been  different?" 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  he  answered,  not  looking  at  her, 
"  that  it  is  rather  late  in  the  day  for  discussing  that 
question." 

"  I  have  much  to  regret,"  she  said  quaveringly. 
"  Have  you  nothing?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered. 

"  Very  well,"  replied  his  wife,  with  the  usual  hard- 
ness returning  to  her  voice.  **  I  was  merely  giving 
you  a  chance.     Remember  that." 

Her  husband  looked  at  her  suspiciously. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  "  giving  me 
a  chance  ?  I  want  no  chance  nor  anything  else 
from  you.  A  man  accepts  nothing  from  one  he 
hates.  My  feeling  towards  you  is,  I  imagine,  no 
secret  to  you.  We  are  tied  together,  and  you  have 
done  your  best  to  make  the  bondage  insupport- 
able." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground, 
**  we  are  tied  together — we  are  tied  together !  " 

She  repeated  these  words  under  her  breath  as  they 
walked  the  few  remaining  steps  to  the  Outlook. 
Bodman  sat  down  upon  the  crumbling  wall.  The 
woman  dropped  her  alpenstock  on  the  rock,  and 
walked  nervously  to  and  fro,  clasping  and  unclasping 


AN  ALPINE  DIVORCE. 


her  hands.  Her  husband  caught  his  breath  as  the 
terrible  moment  drew  near. 

"Why  do  you  walk  about  like  a  wild  animal?"  he 
cried.  "  Come  here  and  sit  down  beside  me,  and  be 
still." 

vShe  faced  him  with  a  light  he  had  never  before 
seen  in  her  eyes — a  light  of  insanity  and  of  hatred. 

"  I  walk  like  a  wild  aniinal,"  she  said,  **  because  I  am 
one.  You  spoke  a  moment  ago  of  your  hatred  of  me ; 
but  you  are  a  man,  and  your  hatred  is  nothing  to 
mine.  Bad  as  you  are,  much  as  you  wish  to  break 
the  bond  which  ties  us  together,  there  are  still  things 
which  I  know  you  would  not  stoop  to.  I  know  there 
is  no  thought  of  murder  in  your  heart,  but  there  is  in 
mine.  I  will  show  you,  John  Bodman,  how  much  I 
hate  you." 

The  man  nervously  clutched  the  stone  beside  him, 
and  gave  a  guilty  start  as  she  mentioned  murder. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  I  have  told  all  my  friends 
in  England  that  I  believed  you  intended  to  murder 
me  in  Switzerland." 

"  Good  God  !  "  he  cried.  "  How  could  you  say  such 
a  thing?" 

"  I  say  it  to  show  how  much  I  hate  you — how  much 
I  am  prepared  to  give  for  revenge.  I  have  warned  the 
people  at  the  hotel,  and  when  we  left  two  men  followed 
us.  The  proprietor  tried  to  persuade  me  not  to  accom- 
pany you.  In  a  few  moments  those  two  men  will 
come  in  sight  of  the  Outlook.  Tell  them,  if  you  think 
they  will  believe  you,  that  it  was  an  accident." 

The  mad  woman  tore  from  the  front  of  her  dress 
shreds  of  lace  and  scattered  them  around. 


^ 


8 


REVENGE! 


Bodman  started  up  to  his  feet,  crying,  "  What  are 
you  about  ?  "  But  before  he  could  move  toward  her 
she  precipitated  herself  over  the  wall,  and  went  shriek- 
ing and  whirling  down  the  awful  abyss. 

The  next  moment  two  men  came  hurriedly  round 
the  edge  of  the  rock,  and  found  the  man  standing 
alone.  Even  in  his  bewilderment  he  realised  that  if 
he  told  the  truth  he  would  not  be  believed. 


I  >  t  i 


WHICH  WAS  THE  MURDERER? 


Mrs.  John  Forder  had  no  prenkonition  of  evil. 
When  she  heard  the  hall  clock  strike  nine  she  was 
blithely  singing  about  the  house  as  she  attended  to  her 
morning  duties,  and  she  little  imagined  that  she  was 
entering  the  darkest  hour  of  her  life,  and  that  before 
the  clock  struck  again  overwhelming  disaster  would 
have  fallen  upon  her.  Her  young  husband  was  work- 
ing in  the  garden,  as  was  his  habit  each  morning  before 
going  to  his  office.  She  expected  him  in  every  mo- 
ment to  make  ready  for  his  departure  down  town. 
She  heard  the  click  of  the  front  gate,  and  a  moment 
later  some  angry  words.  Alarmed,  she  was  about  to 
look  through  the  parted  curtains  of  the  bay-window 
in  front  when  the  sharp  crack  of  a  revolver  rang  out, 
and  she  hastened  to  the  door  with  a  vague  si. iking 
fear  at  her  heart.  As  she  flung  open  the  door  she 
saw  two  things — first,  her  husband  lying  face  down- 
wards on  the  grass  motionless,  his  right  arm  doubled 
under  him ;  second,  a  man  trying  frantically  to  undo 
the  fastening  of  the  front  gate,  with  a  smoking  pistol 
still  in  his  hand. 

Human  lives  often  hang  on  trivialities.  The  mur- 
derer in  his  anxiety  to  be  undisturbed  had  closed  the 
front  gate  tightly.     The  wall  was  so  high  as  to  shut 


'II 


10 


REVENGE! 


I; 


out  observation  from  the  street,  but  the  height  that 
made  it  difficult  for  an  outsider  to  see  over  it  also 
rendered  escape  impossible.  If  the  man  had  left  the 
gate  open  he  might  have  got  away  unnoticed,  but,  as 
it  was,  Mrs.  Forder's  screams  aroused  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  before  the  murderer  succeeded  in  undoing 
the  fastening,  a  crowd  had  collected  with  a  policeman 
in  its  centre,  and  escape  was  out  of  the  question. 
Only  one  shot  had  been  fired,  but  at  such  clcse  quar- 
ters that  the  bullet  went  through  the  body.  John 
Forder  was  not  dead,  but  lay  on  the  grass  insensible. 
He  was  carried  into  the  house  and  the  family  physician 
summoned.  The  doctor  sent  for  a  specialist  to  as- 
sist him,  and  the  two  men  consulted  together.  To 
the  distracted  woman  they  were  able  to  give  small 
comfort.  The  case  at  best  was  a  doubtful  one. 
There  was  some  hope  of  ultimate  recovery,  but  very 
little. 

Meanwhile  the  murderer  lay  in  custody,  his  own 
fate  depending  much  on  the  fate  of  his  victim.  If 
Forder  died,  bail  would  be  refused  ;  if  he  showed 
signs  of  recovering,  his  assailant  had  a  chance  for,  at 
least,  temporary  liberty.  No  one  in  the  city,  unless  it 
were  the  wife  herself,  was  more  anxious  for  Forder's 
recovery  than  the  man  who  had  shot  him. 

The  crime  had  its  origin  in  a  miserable  political 
quarrel — a  mere  wrangle  about  offices.  Walter  Rad- 
nor, the  assassin,  had  '  claims '  upon  an  office,  and, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  he  attributed  his  defeat  to  the 
secret  machinations  of  John  Forder.  He  doubtless 
did  not  intend  to  murder  his  enemy  that  morning 
when  he  left  home,  but   heated  words  had  speedily 


liMfc. 


WHICH  WAS  THE  MURDERER? 


II 


followed  the  meeting,  and  the  revolver  was  handy  in 
his  hip  pocket. 

Radnor  had  a  strong  political  backing,  and,  even 
after  he  stretched  his  victim  on  the  grass,  he  had  not 
expected  to  be  so  completely  deserted  when  the  news 
spread  through  the  city.  Life  was  not  then  so  well 
protected  as  it  has  since  become,  and  many  a  man 
who  walked  the  streets  free  had,  before  that  time,  shot 
his  victim.  But  in  this  case  the  code  of  assassination 
had  been  violated.  Radnor  had  shot  down  an  un- 
armed man  in  his  own  front  garden  and  almost  in 
sight  of  his  wife.  He  gave  his  victim  no  chance.  If 
Forder  had  had  even  an  unloaded  revolver  in  any  of 
his  pockets,  things  would  not  have  looked  so  black 
for  Radnor,  because  his  friends  could  have  held  that 
he  had  fired  in  self-defence,  as  they  would  doubtless 
claim  that  the  dying  man  had  been  the  first  to  show  a 
weapon.  So  Radnor,  in  the  city  prison,  found  that 
even  the  papers  of  his  own  political  party  were  against 
him,  and  that  the  town  was  horrified  at  what  it  con- 
sidered a  cold-blooded  crime. 

As  time  went  on  Radnor  and  his  few  friends  began 
once  more  to  hope.  Forder  still  lingered  between 
life  and  death.  That  he  would  ultimately  die  from 
his  wound  was  regarded  as  certain,  but  the  J  r  re- 
quired that  a  man  should  die  within  a  stated  time 
after  the  assault  had  been  committed  upon  him, 
otherwise  the  assailant  could  not  be  tried  for  murder. 
The  limit  provided  by  the  law  was  almost  reached 
and  Forder  still  lived.  Time  also  worked  in  R?dnor's 
favour  in  another  direction.  The  sharp  indignation 
that   had    followed   the   crime   had    become    dulled. 


IT 


12 


REVENGE! 


r 


I 


Other  startling  events  occurred  which  usurped  the 
place  held  by  the  Forder  tragedy,  and  Radnor's 
friends  received  more  and  more  encouragement. 

Mrs.  Forder  nursed  her  husband  assiduously,  hoping 
against  hope.  They  had  been  married  less  than  a 
year,  and  their  love  for  each  other  had  increased  as 
time  went  on.  Her  devotion  to  her  husband  had  now 
become  almost  fanatical,  and  the  physicians  were  afraid 
to  tell  her  how  utterly  hopeless  the  case  was,  fearing 
that  if  the  truth  became  known  to  her,  she  would 
break  down  both  mentally  and  physically.  Her 
hatred  of  the  man  who  had  wrought  this  misery  was 
so  deep  and  intense  that  once  when  she  spoke  of  him 
to  her  brother,  who  was  a  leading  lawyer  in  the  place, 
he  saw,  with  grave  apprehension,  the  light  of  insanity 
in  her  eyes.  Fearful  for  a  breakdown  in  health,  the 
physicians  insisted  that  she  should  walk  for  a  certain 
ti  le  each  day,  and  as  she  refused  to  go  outside  of 
the  gate,  she  took  her  lonely  promenade  up  and 
down  a  long  path  in  the  deserted  gardeji.  One  day 
she  heard  a  conversation  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall 
that  startled  her. 

"  That  is  the  iiouse,"  said  a  voice,  "  where  Forder 
lives,  who  was  shot  by  Waiter  Radnor.  The  murder 
took  place  just  behind  this  wall."  . 

"  Did  it  really  ?  "  queried  a  second  voice.  "  I  sup- 
pose Radnor  is  rather  an  anxious  man  this  week." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  first,  "  he  has  doubtless  been  anx- 
ious enough  all  along." 

*'  True.  But  still  if  Forder  lives  the  week  out, 
Radnor  will  escape  the  gallows.  If  Forder  were  to 
die   this  week  it  would  be  rather  rough  on  his  mur- 


WHICH  WAS  THE  MURDERER? 


13 


derer,  for  his  case  would  come  up  before  Judge  Brent, 
who  is  known  all  over  the  State  as  a  hanging  judge. 
He  has  no  patience  with  crimes  growing  out  of  poli- 
tics, and  he  is  certain  to  charge  dead  against  Radnor, 
and  carry  the  jury  with  him.  I  tell  you  that  the  man 
in  jail  will  be  the  most  joyous  person  in  this  cii-y  ^n 
Sunday  morning  if  Forder  is  still  alive,  and  I  under- 
stand his  friends  have  bail  ready,  and  that  he  will  be 
out  of  jail  first  thing  Monday  morning." 

The  two  unseen  persons,  having  now  satisfied  their 
curiosity  by  their  scrutiny  of  the  house,  passed  on 
and  left  Mrs.  Forder  standing  looking  into  space,  with 
her  nervous  hands  clasped  tightly  together. 

Coming  to  herself  she.  walked  quickly  to  the  house 
and  sent  a  messenger  for  her  brother.  He  found  her 
pacing  up  and  down  the  room 

"  How  is  John  to-day  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Still  the  same,  still  the  same,"  was  the  answer. 
"  It  seems  to  me  he  is  getting  weaker  and  weaker. 
He  does  not  recognise  me  any  more." 

*'  What  do  the  doctors  say  ?  " 

*' Oh,  how  can  I  tell  you?  I  don't  suppose  they 
speak  the  truth  to  me,  but  when  they  come  again  I 
shall  insist  upon  knowing  just  what  they  think.  But 
tell  me  this :  is  it  true  that  if  John  lives  through  the 
week  his  murderer  will  escape  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean,  escape?" 

"Is  it  the  law  of  the  State  that  if  my  husband  lives 
till  the  end  of  this  week,  the  man  who  shot  him  will 
not  be  tried  for  murder?  " 

*'  He  will  not  be  tried  for  murder,"  said  the  lawyer, 
"  but  he  may  not  be  tried  for  murder  even  if  John 


ITT 

ii 


14 


REVENGE! 


were  to  die  now.  His  friends  will  doubtless  try  to 
make  it  out  a  case  of  manslaughter  as  it  is ;  or  per- 
haps they  will  try  to  get  him  off  on  the  ground  of 
self-defence.  Still,  I  don't  think  they  would  have  much 
of  a  chance,  especially  as  his  case  will  come  before 
Judge  Brent ;  but  if  John  lives  past  twelve  o'clock  on 
Saturday  night,  it  is  the  law  of  the  State  that  Radnor 
cannot  be  tried  for  murder.  Then,  at  most,  he  will 
get  a  term  of  years  in  a  state  prison,  but  that  will  not 
bother  him  to  any  great  extent.  He  has  a  strong 
political  backing,  and  if  his  party  wins  the  next  state 
election,  which  seems  likely,  the  governor  will  doubt- 
less pardon  him  out  before  a  year  is  over." 

"  Is  it  possible,"  cried  the  wife,  "  that  such  an 
enormous  miscarriage  of  justice  can  take  place  in  a 
State  that  pretends  to  be  civilised  ?  " 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  I  don't  bank 
much  on  our  civilisation,"  he  said.  "  Such  things 
occur  every  year,  and  many  times  a  year," 

The  wife  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  while  her 
brother  tried  to  calm  and  soothe  her. 

"  It  is  terrible — it  is  awful !  "  she  cried,  "  that  such 
a  dastardly  crime  may  go  unavenged  !  " 

"  My  dear  sister,"  said  the  lawyer,  "  do  not  let 
your  mind  dwell  so  much  on  vengeance.  Remember 
that  whatever  happens  to  the  villain  who  caused  all 
this  misery,  it  can  neither  help  nor  injure  your  hus- 
band." 

"  Revenge ! "  cried  the  woman,  suddenly  turning 
upon  her  brother ;  "  I  swear  before  God  that  if  that 
man  escapes,  I  will  kill  him  with  my  own  hand  !  " 

The  lawyer  was  too  wise  to  say  anything  to  his 


WHICH  WAS  THE  MURDERER 


-=ZEJ 


sister  in  her  present  frame  of  mind,  and  after  doing 
what  he  could  to  comfort  her  he  departed. 

On  Saturday  morning  Mrs.  Forder  confronted  the 
physicians. 

'*  I  want  to  know,"  she  said,  "  and  I  want  to  know 
definitely,  whether  there  is  the  slightest  chance  of  my 
husband's  recovery  or  not.  This  suspense  is  slowly 
killing  me,  and  I  must  know  the  truth,  and  I  mu-st 
know  it  now." 

The  physicians  looked  one  at  the  other.  "  I 
think,"  said  the  elder,  *'  that  it  is  useless  to  keep  you 
longer  in  suspense.  There  is  not  the  slightest  hope 
of  your  husband's  recovery.  He  may  live  for  a  week 
or  for  a  month  perhaps,  or  he  may  die  at  any 
moment." 

"  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,"  said  Mrs.  Forder,  with 
a  calmness  that  astonished  the  two  men,  who  knew 
the  state  of  excitement  she  had  laboured  under  for  a 
long  time  past.  "  I  thank  you.  I  think  it  is  better 
that  I  should  know." 

All  the  afternoon  she  sat  by  the  bedside  of  her 
insensible  and  scarcely  breathing  husband.  His  face 
was  wasted  to  a  shadow  from  his  long  contest  with 
death.  The  nurse  begged  permission  to  leave  the 
room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  the  wife,  who  had  been 
waiting  for  this,  silently  assented.  When  the  woman 
had  gone,  Mrs.  Forder,  with  tears  streaming  from  her 
eyes,  kissed  her  husband. 

"John,"  she  whispered,  "you  know  and  you  will 
understand."  She  pressed  his  face  to  her  bosom,  and 
when  his  head  fell  back  on  the  pillow  her  husband 
was  smothered. 


t 


i6 


REVENGE 


Mrs.  Forder  called  for  the  nurse  and  sent  for  the 

doctors,  but  that  which  had  happened  was  only  what 

they  had  all  expected. 

«  -if  ^  #  «  « 

To  a  man  in  the  city  jail  the  news  of  Forder's 
death  brought  a  wild  thrill  of  fear.  The  terrible  and 
deadly  charge  of  Judge  Brent  against  the  murderer 
doomed  the  victim,  as  every  listener  in  the  court- 
house realised  as  soon  as  it  was  finished.  The  jury 
were  absent  but  ten  minutes,  and  the  hanging  of 
Walter  Radnor  did  more  perhaps  than  anything  that 
ever  happened  in  the  State  to  make  life  within  that 
commonwealth  more  secure  than  it  had  been  before. 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


^■ 


DuPRfe  sat  at  one  of  the  round  tables  in  the  Caf6 
Vernon,  with  a  glass  of  absinthe  before  him,  which  he 
sipped  every  now  and  again.  He  looked  through  the 
open  door,  out  to  the  Boulevard,  and  saw  passing 
back  and  forth  with  the  regularity  of  a  pendulum,  a 
uniformed  policeman.  Dupr^  laughed  silently  as  he 
noticed  this  evidence  of  law  and  order.  The  Caf6 
Vernon  was  under  the  protection  of  the  Government. 
The  class  to  which  Dupre  belonged  had  sworn  that  it 
would  blow  the  caf6  into  the  next  world,  therefore 
the  military-looking  policeman  walked  to  and  fro  on 
the  pavement  to  prevent  this  being  done,  so  that  all 
honest  citizens  might  see  that  the  Government  pro- 
tects its  own.  People  were  arrested  now  and  then  for 
lingering  around  the  caf^ ;  they  were  innocent,  of 
course,  and  by-and-by  the  Government  found  that  out 
and  let  them  go.  The  real  criminal  seldom  acts 
suspiciously.  Most  of  the  arrested  persons  were 
merely  attracted  by  curiosity.  "  There,"  said  one  to 
another,  "  the  notorious  Hertzog  was  arrested." 

The  real  criminal  goes  quietly  into  the  caf^,  and 
orders  his  absinthe,  as  Dupre  had  done.  And  the 
policeman  marches  up  and  down  keeping  an  eye  on 
the  guiltless.     So  runs  the  world. 


Ml 


r 


i8 


REVENGE! 


^1 


i 


There  were  few  customers  in  the  caf6,  for  people 
feared  the  vengeance  of  Hertzog's  friends.  They 
expected  some  fine  day  that  the  caf^  would  be  blown 
to  atoms,  and  they  preferred  to  be  taking  their  coffee 
and  cognac  somewhere  else  when  that  time  came. 
It  was  evident  that  M.  Sonne,  the  proprietor  of  the 
caf6,  had  done  a  poor  stroke  of  business  for  himself 
when  he  gave  information  to  the  police  regarding  the 
whereabouts  of  Hertzog,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
his  caf^  became  suddenly  the  most  noted  one  in  the 
city,  and  that  it  now  enjoyed  the  protection  of  the 
Government. 

Dupr^  seldom  looked  at  the  proprietor,  who  sat 
at  the  desk,  nor  at  the  waiter,  who  had  helped  the 
week  before  to  overpower  Hertzog.  He  seemed 
more  intent  on  watching  the  minion  of  the  law  who 
paced  back  and  forth  in  front  of  the  door,  although 
he  once  glanced  at  the  other  minion  who  sat  almost 
out  of  sight  at  the  back  of  the  caf6,  scrutinising  all 
who  came  in,  especially  those  who  had  parcels  of  any 
kind.  The  cafe  was  well  guarded,  and  M.  Sonne,  at 
the  desk,  appeared  to  be  satisfied  with  the  protection 
he  was  receiving. 

When  customers  did  come  in  they  seldom  sat  at 
the  round  metal  tables,  but  went  direct  to  the  zinc- 
covered  bar,  ordered  their  fluid  and  drank  it  standing, 
seeming  in  a  hurry  to  get  away.  They  nodded  to  M. 
Sonne  and  were  evidently  old  frequenters  of  the  caf^ 
who  did  not  wish  him  to  think  they  had  deserted  him 
in  this  crisis,  nevertheless  they  all  had  engagements 
that  made  prompt  departure  necessary,  Dupr^  smiled 
grimly  when  he  noticed  this.     He  was  the  only  man 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


19 


ion 


sitting  at  a  table.  He  had  no  fears  of  being  blown  up. 
He  knew  that  his  comrades  were  more  given  to  big 
talk  than  to  action.  He  had  not  attended  the  last 
meeting,  for  he  more  than  suspected  the  police  had 
agents  among  them;  besides,  his  friend  and  leader, 
Hertzog,  had  never  attended  meetings.  That  was 
why  the  police  had  had  such  difficulty  in  finding  him. 
Hertzog  had  been  a  man  of  deeds  not  words.  He 
had  said  to  Duprc  once,  that  a  single  determined  man 
who  kept  his  mouth  shut,  could  do  more  against  so- 
ciety than  all  the  secret  associations  ever  formed,  and 
his  own  lurid  career  had  proved  the  truth  of  this.  But 
now  he  was  in  prison,  and  it  was  the  treachery  of  M. 
Sonne  that  had  sent  him  there.  As  he  thought  of 
this,  Dupr^  cast  a  glance  at  the  proprietor  and  gritted 
his  teeth. 

The  policeman  at  the  back  of  the  hall,  feeling  lonely 
perhaps,  walked  to  the  door  and  nodded  to  his  parad- 
ing comrade.  The  other  paused  for  a  moment  on  his 
beat,  and  they  spoke  to  each  other.  As  the  policeman 
returned  to  his  place,  Dupr6  said  to  him — 

"  Have  a  sip  with  me." 

"  Not  while  on  duty,"  replied  the  officer  with  a 
wink. 

"  GargoHy'  said  Dupr^  quietly,  "  bring  me  a  carafTe 
of  brandy.    Fin  champagne^ 

The  gar^on  placed  the  little  marked  decanter  on  the 
table  with  two  glasses.  Dupr^  filled  them  both. 
The  policeman,  with  a  rapid  glance  over  his  shoulder, 
tossed  one  oL,  and  smacked  his  lips.  Dupr^  slowly 
sipped  the  other  while  he  asked — 

"  Do  you  anticipate  any  trouble  here?  " 


1 


II 


20 


REVENGE! 


"  Not  in  the  least,"  answered  the  officer  confidently. 
"  Talk,  that's  all." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Dupre. 

"  They  had  a  meeting  the  other  night — a  secret 
meeting ;  "  the  policeman  smiled  a  little  as  he  said 
this.  **  They  talked  a  good  deal.  They  are  going  to 
do  wonderful  things.  A  man  was  detailed  to  carry 
out  this  job." 

"  And  have  you  arrested  him  ?  "  questioned  Dupre. 

'*Oh  dear,  no.  We  watch  him  merely.  He  is  the 
most  frightened  man  in  the  city  to-night.  We  expect 
him  to  come  and  tell  us  all  about  it,  but  we  hope  he 
won't.     We  know  more  about  it  than  he  does." 

"  I  dare  s?y ;  still  it  must  have  hurt  M.  Sonne's 
business  a  good  deal." 

'*  It  has  killed  it  for  the  present.  People  are  such 
cowards.  But  the  Government  will  make  it  all  right 
with  him  out  of  the  secret  fund.  He  won't  lose  any- 
thing." 

"  Does  he  own  the  whole  house,  or  only  the  caf6?" 

"The  whole  house.  He  lets  the  upper  rooms,  but 
nearly  all  the  tenants  have  left.  Yet  I  call  it  the 
safest  place  in  the  city.  They  are  all  poltroons,  the 
dynamiters,  and  they  are  certain  to  strike  at  some 
place  not  so  well  guarded.  They  are  all  well  known 
to  us,  and  the  moment  one  is  caught  prowling  about 
here  he  will  be  arrested.  They  are  too  cowardly  to 
risk  their  liberty  by  coming  near  this  place.  It's  a 
different  thing  from  leaving  a  tin  can  and  fuse  in 
some  dark  corner  when  nobody  is  looking.  Any  fool 
can  do  that." 

"  Then  you  think  this  would  be  a  good  time  to  take 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


21 


a  room  here  ?  I  am  looking  for  one  in  this  neighbour- 
hood," said  Dupr^. 

**  You  couldn't  do  better  than  arrange  with  M. 
Sonne.  You  could  make  a  good  bargain  with  him 
now,  and  you  would  be  perfectly  safe." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  mentioned  it ;  I  will  speak  to 
M,  Sonne  to-night,  and  see  the  rooms  to-morrow. 
Have  another  sip  of  brandy  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I  must  be  getting  back  to  my 
place.  Just  tell  M.  Sonne,  if  you  take  a  room,  that  I 
spoke    J  you  about  it." 

"I  will.     Good-night." 

Dupr^  paid  his  bill  and  tipped  the  gan^on  liberally. 
The  proprietor  was  glad  to  hear  of  any  one  wanting 
rooms.  It  showed  the  tide  was  turning,  and  an  ap- 
pointment was  made  for  next  day. 

Dupre  kept  his  appointment,  and  the  concierge 
showed  him  over  the  house.  The  back  rooms  were 
too  dark,  the  windows  being  but  a  few  feet  from  the 
opposite  wall.  The  lower  front  rooms  were  too  noisy. 
Dupr^  said  that  he  liked  quiet,  being  a  student.  A 
front  room  on  the  third  floor,  however,  pleased  him, 
and  he  took  it.  He  well  knew  the  necessity  of  being 
on  good  terms  with  the  concierge,  who  would  spy  on 
him  anyhow,  so  he  paid  just  a  trifle  more  than  requi- 
site to  that  functionary,  but  not  enough  to  arouse 
suspicion.  Too  much  is  as  bad  as  too  little,  a  fact 
that  Dupre  was  well  aware  of. 

He  had  taken  pains  to  see  that  his  window  was 
directly  over  the  front  door  of  the  cafe,  but  now  that 
he  was  alone  and  the  door  locked,  he  scrutinised  the 
posit;  n  more  closely.     There  was  an  awning  over  the 


22 


revenge: 


front  of  the  caf^  that  shut  off  his  view  of  the  pave- 
ment and  the  policeman  marching  below.  That  com- 
plicated  matters.  Still  he  remembered  that  when  the 
sun  went  down  the  awning  was  rolled  up.  His  first 
idea  when  he  took  the  room  was  to  drop  the  dyna- 
mite from  the  third  story  window  to  the  pavement 
below,  but  the  more  he  thought  of  that  plan  the  less 
he  liked  it.  It  was  the  sort  of  thing  any  fool  could 
do,  as  the  policeman  had  said.  It  would  take  some 
thinking  over.  Besides,  dynamite  dropped  on  the 
pavement  would,  at  most,  but  blow  in  the  front  of  the 
shop,  kill  the  perambulating  policeman  perhaps,  or 
some  innocent  passer-by,  but  it  would  not  hurt  old 
Sonne  nor  yet  the  gar^on  who  had  made  himself  so 
active  in  arresting  Hertzog. 

Dupre  was  a  methodical  man.  He  spoke  quite 
truly  when  he  said  he  was  a  student.  He  now  turned 
his  student  training  on  the  case  as  if  it  were  a  problem 
in  mathematics. 

First,  the  dynamite  must  be  exploded  inside  the 
cafe.  Second,  the  thing  must  be  done  so  deftly  that 
no  suspicion  could  fall  on  the  perpetrator.  Third, 
revenge  was  no  revenge  when  it  (A)  killed  the  man 
who  fired  the  mine,  or  (B)  left  a  trail  that  would  lead 
to  his  arrest. 

Dupre  sat  down  at  his  table,  thrust  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  stretched  out  his  legs,  knit  his  brows,  and 
set  himself  to  solve  the  conundrum.  He  could  easily 
take  a  handbag  filled  with  explosive  material  into  the 
cafe.  He  was  known  there,  but  not  as  a  friend  o*f 
Hertzog's.  He  was  a  customer  and  a  tenant,  there- 
fore  doubly  safe.     But  he   could   not  leave  the  bag 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


2^ 


there,  and  if  he  stayed  with  it  his  revenge  would 
rebound  on  himself.  He  could  hand  the  bag  to  the 
waiter  saying  he  would  call  for  it  again,  but  the 
waiter  would  naturally  wonder  why  he  did  not  give 
it  to  the  concierge,  and  have  it  sent  to  his  rooms; 
besides,  the  gar^oti  was  wildly  suspicious.  The  waiter 
felt  his  unfortunate  position.  He  dare  not  leave  the 
Cafe  Vernon,  for  he  now  knew  that  he  was  a  marked 
man.  At  the  Vernon  he  had  police  protection,  while  if 
he  went  anywhere  else  he  would  have  no  more  safeguard 
than  any  other  citizen  ;  so  he  stayed  on  at  the  Vernon, 
such  a  course  being,  he  thought,  the  least  of  two 
evils.  But  he  watched  every  incomer  much  more 
sharply  than  did  the  policeman. 

Dupr^  also  realised  that  there  was  another  difficulty 
about  the  handbag  scheme.  The  dynamite  must  be 
set  off  either  by  a  fuse  or  by  clockwork  machinery. 
A  fuse  caused  smoke,  and  the  moment  a  man  touched 
a  bag  containing  clockwork  his  hand  felt  the  thrill  of 
moving  machinery.  A  man  who  hears  for  the  first 
time  the  buzz  of  the  rattlesnake's  signal,  like  the 
shaking  of  dry  peas  in  a  pod,  springs  instinctively 
aside,  even  though  he  knows  nothing  of  snakes. 
How  much  more,  therefore,  would  a  suspicious  waiter, 
whose  nerves  were  all  alert  for  the  soft,  deadly  purr 
of  dynamite  mechanism,  spoil  everything  the  moment 
his  hand  touched  the  bag?  Yes,  Dupre  reluctantly 
admitted  to  himself,  the  handbag  theory  was  not 
practical.     It  led  to  either  self-destruction  or  prison. 

What  then  was  the  next  thing,  as  fuse  or  mechanism 
were  unavailable?  There  was  the  bomb  'that  ex- 
ploded when  it  struck,  and  Dupre    had    himself  made 


r 


24 


REVENGE 


several.  A  man  might  stand  in  the  middle  of  the 
street  and  shy  it  in  through  the  open  door.  But 
then  he  might  miss  the  doorway.  Also  until  the  hour 
the  cafe  closed  the  street  was  as  light  as  day.  Then 
the  policeman  was  all  alert  for  people  in  the  middle  of 
the  street.  Mis  own  safety  depended  upon  it  too. 
How  was  the  man  in  the  street  to  be  dispensed  with, 
yet  the  result  attained?  If  the  Houlevard  was  not  so 
wide,  a  person  on  the  opposite  side  in  a  front  room 
might  fire  a  dynamite  bomb  across,  as  t!  ey  do  from 
dynamite  guns,  but  then  there  was — 
'  By  God  !  "  cried  Dupre,  *'  I  have  it  !  " 

He  drew  in  his  outstretched  legs,  went  to  the  win- 
dow and  threw  it  open,  gazing  down  for  a  moment  at 
the  pavement  below.  He  must  measure  the  distance 
at  night — and  late  at  night  too — he  said  to  himself. 
He  bought  a  ball  of  cord,  as  nearly  the  colour  of  the 
front  of  the  building  as  possible.  He  left  his  window 
open,  and  after  midnight  ran  the  cord  out  till  he 
estimated  that  it  about  reached  the  top  of  the  cafe 
door.  He  stole  quietly  down  and  let  himself  out, 
leaving  the  door  unlatched.  The  door  to  the  apart- 
ments was  at  the  extreme  edge  of  the  building,  while 
the  cafe  doors  were  in  the  middle,  with  large  windows 
on  each  side.  As  he  came  round  to  the  f-ont,  his 
heart  almost  ceased  to  beat  when  a  voice  from  the 
cafe  door  said — 

"What  do  you  want?  What  are  you  doing  heic 
at  this  hour?  " 

The  policeman  had  become  so  much  a  part  of  the 
pavement  in  Du)^»*6's  mind  that  he  had  actually  for- 
gotten  the   offi         was  there   night  and  day.     Dupre 


IS 


le 


le 


l^^jQv'  <;.'«?" -^ 

1 

'• 

i 

rc 


THK   roKU    DAMil.lU)    Al'.Ol    1     A    'ODl     AlioVl-;    Tllli    I'OI.ICIOI AN  S    11 ICAD.— A/.t,--''  -5- 


1 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


25 


allowed  himself  the  luxury  of  one  silent  gasp,  then 
his  heart  took  up  its  work  again. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you,"  he  said  quietly.  By  strain- 
ing his  eyes  he  noticed  at  the  same  moment  that  the 
cord  dangled  about  a  foot  above  the  policeman's  head, 
as  he  stood  in  the  dark  doorway. 

"  I  was  looking  for  you.  I  suppose  you  don't  know 
of  any — any  chemist's  shop  open  so  late  as  this  ?  I 
have  a  raging  toothache  and  can't  sleep,  and  I  want 
to  get  something  for  it." 

*'  Oh,  the  chemist's  at  the  corner  is  open  all  night. 
Ring  the  bell  at  the  right  hand." 

"  I  hate  to  disturb  them  for  such  a  trifle." 

"  That's  what  they're  there  for,"  said  the  officer 
philosophically. 

"  Would  you  mind  standing  at  the  other  door  till 
I  get  back?  I'll  be  as  quick  as  I  can.  I  don't  wish 
to  leave  it  open  unprotected,  and  I  don't  want  to 
close  it,  for  the  concierge  knows  I'm  in  and  he  is  afraid 
to  open  it  when  any  one  rings  late.  You  know  me, 
of  course;  I'm  in  No.  16." 

"  Yes,  I  recognise  you  now,  though  I  didn't  at  first. 
I  will  stand  by  the  door  until  you  return." 

Dupr6  went  to  the  corner  shop  and  bought  a  bottle 
of  toothache  drops  from  the  sleepy  youth  behind  the 
counter.  He  roused  him  up  however,  and  made  him 
explain  how  the  remedy  was  to  be  applied.  He 
thanked  the  policeman,  closed  the  door,  and  went  up 
to  his  room.  A  second  later  the  cord  was  cut  at  the 
window  and  quietly  pulled  in. 

Dupr^  sat  down  and  breathed  hard  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 


i 


1 


I 


26 


REVENGE! 


**  You  fool !  "  he  said  to  himself ;  "  a  mistake  or  two 
like  that  and  you  are  doomed.  That's  what  comes  of 
thinking  too  much  on  one  branch  of  your  subject. 
Another  two  feet  and  the  string  would  have  been 
down  on  his  nose.  I  am  certain  he  did  not  see  it ;  I 
could  hardly  see  it  myself,  looking  for  it.  The  guard- 
ing of  the  side  door  was  an  inspiration.  But  I  must 
think  well  over  every  phase  of  the  subject  before  act- 
ing again.     This  is  a  lesson." 

As  he  went  on  with  his  preparations  it  astonished 
him  to  find  how  many  various  things  had  to  be 
thought  of  in  connexion  with  an  apparently  simple 
scheme,  the  neglect  of  any  one  of  which  would  en- 
danger the  whole  enterprise.  His  plan  was  a  most 
uncomplicated  one.  All  he  had  to  do  was  to  tie 
a  canister  of  dynamite  at  the  end  of  a  string  of  suit- 
able length,  and  at  night,  before  the  caf^  doors  were 
closed,  fling  it  from  his  window  so  that  the  package 
would  sweep  in  by  the  open  door,  strike  against  the 
ceiling  of  the  caf6,  and  explode.  First  he  thought  of 
holding  the  end  of  the  cord  in  his  hand  at  the  open 
window,  but  reflection  showed  him  that  if,  in  the  nat- 
ural excitement  of  the  moment,  he  drew  back  or 
leant  too  far  forward  the  package  might  strike  the 
front  of  the  house  above  the  door,  or  perhaps  hit  the 
pavement.  He  therefore  drove  a  stout  nail  in  the 
window-sill  and  attached  the  end  of  the  cord  to  that. 
Again,  he  had  to  render  his  canister  of  explosive  so 
sensitive  to  any  shock  that  he  realised  if  he  tied  the 
cord  around  it  and  flung  it  out  into  the  night,  the  can 
might  go  off  when  the  string  was  jerked  tight  and  the 
explosion  take  place  in  mid-air  above  the  street.     So 


■i 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


27 


he  arranged  a  spiral  spring  betveen  can  and  cord  to 
take  up  harmlessly  the  shock  caused  by  the  momen- 
tum of  the  package  when  the  string  became  suddenly 
taut.  He  saw  that  the  weak  part  of  his  project  was 
the  fact  that  everything  would  depend  on  his  own 
nerve  and  accuracy  of  aim  at  the  critical  moment,  and 
that  a  slight  miscalculation  to  the  right  or  to  the  left 
would  cause  the  bomb,  when  falling  down  and  in,  to 
miss  the  door  altogether.  He  would  have  but  one 
chance,  and  there  was  no  opportunity  of  practising. 
However,  Dupre,  who  was  a  philosophical  man,  said 
to  himself  that  if  people  allowed  small  technical  diffi- 
culties to  trouble  them  too  much,  nothing  really 
worth  doing  would  be  accomplished  in  this  world. 
He  felt  sure  he  was  going  to  make  some  little  mistake 
that  would  ruin  all  his  plans,  but  he  resolved  to  do 
the  best  he  could  and  accept  the  consequences  with 
all  the  composure  at  his  command. 

As  he  stood  by  the  window  on  the  fatal  night  with 
the  canister  in  his  hand  he  tried  to  recollect  if  there 
was  anything  left  undone  or  any  tracks  remaining 
uncovered.  There  was  no  light  in  his  room,  but  a 
fire  burned  in  the  grate,  throwing  flickering  reflections 
on  the  opposite  wall. 

"  There  are  four  things  I  must  do,"  he  murmured  : 
**  first,  pull  up  the  string  ;  second,  throw  it  in  the  fire  ; 
third,  draw  out  the  nail  ;  fourth,  close  the  window." 

He  was  pleased  to  notice  that  his  heart  was  not 
beating  faster  than  usual.  **  I  think  I  have  myself 
well  in  hand,  yet  I  must  not  be  too  cool  when  I  get 
downstairs.  There  are  so  many  things  to  think  of 
all  at  one  time,"  he  said  to  himself  with  a  sigh.     He 


28 


REVENGE! 


looked  up  and  down  the  street.  The  pavement  was 
clear.  He  waited  until  the  policeman  had  passed  the 
door.  He  would  take  ten  steps  before  he  turned  on 
his  beat.  When  his  back  was  towards  the  cafe  door 
Dupr^  launched  his  bomb  out  into  the  night. 

He  drew  back  instantly  and  watched  the  nail.  It 
held  when  the  jerk  came.  A  moment  later  the  whole 
building  lurched  like  a  drunken  man,  heaving  its  shoul- 
ders as  it  were.  Dupre  was  startled  by  a  great  square 
of  plaster  coming  down  on  his  table  with  a  crash. 
Below,  there  was  a  roar  of  muffled  thunder.  The 
floor  trembled  under  him  after  the  heave.  The  glass 
in  the  window  clattered  down,  and  he  felt  the  air 
smite  him  on  the  breast  as  if  some  one  had  struck  him 
a  blow. 

He  looked  out  for  a  moment.  The  concussion  had 
extinguished  the  street  lamps  opposite.  All  was  dark 
in  front  of  the  cafe  where  a  moment  before  the  Boul- 
evard was  flooded  with  light.  A  cloud  of  smoke  was 
rolling  out  from  the  lower  part  of  the  house. 

'^  Four  things,"  said  Dupre,  as  he  rapidly  pulled  in 
the  cord.  It  was  shrivelled  at  the  end.  Dupre  did 
the  other  three  things  quickly. 

Everything  was  strangely  silent,  although  the  dead- 
ened roar  of  the  explosion  still  sounded  dully  in  his 
ears.  His  boots  crunched  on  the  plaster  as  he  walked 
across  the  room  and  groped  for  the  door.  He  had 
some  trouble  in  pulling  it  open.  It  stuck  so  fast  that 
he  thought  it  was  locked  ;  then  he  remembered  with  a 
cold  shiver  of  fear  that  the  door  had  been  unlocked  all 
the  time  he  had  stood  at  the  window  with  the  canister 
in  his  hand. 


I 


11 


uri'Ki';  I. AIM  111.11  HIS  do.mi;  on   into   riii';  Niciri. — Page  2S. 


! 


(i 


s 


A  DYNAMITE  EXPLOSION. 


29 


"  I  have  certainly  done  some  careless  thing  like  that 
which  will  betray  me  yet ;  I  wonder  what  it  is?" 

He  wrenched  the  door  open  at  last.  The  lights  in 
the  hall  were  out ;  he  struck  a  match,  and  made  his  way 
down.  He  thought  he  heard  groans.  As  he  went 
down,  he  found  it  was  the  concierge  huddled  in  a  cor- 
ner. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  my  God,  my  God !  "  cried  the  concierge,  "  I 
knew  they  would  do  it.     We  are  all  blown  to  atoms  !  " 

'*  Get  up,"  said  Dupr^,  "  you're  not  hurt ;  come  with 
me  and  see  if  we  can  be  of  any  use." 

**  I'm  afraid  of  another  explosion,"  groaned  the 
concierge. 

*'  Nonsense  !    There's  never  a  second.    Come  along." 

They  found  some  difficulty  in  getting  outside,  and 
then  it  was  through  a  hole  in  the  wall  and  not  through 
the  door.     The  lower  hall  was  wrecked. 

Dupre  expected  to  find  a  crowd,  but  there  was  no 
one  there.  He  did  not  realise  how  short  a  time  had 
elapsed  since  the  disaster.  The  policeman  was  on  his 
hands  and  knees  in  the  street,  slowly  getting  up,  like 
a  man  in  a  dream.  Dupr^  ran  to  him,  and  helped  him 
on  his  feet. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  policeman,  rubbing  his 
head  in  his  bewilderment. 

"  How  was  it  done  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me.  All  at  once  there  was  a  clap 
of  thuader,  and  the  next  thing  I  was  on  my  face  in 
the  street." 

"  Is  your  comrade  inside?  " 


M 


]f^ 


30 


REVENGE 


■i't 

A"!  ■( 


. 


*'  Yes ;  he  and  M.  Sonne  and  two  customers." 

"And  the ^«rf^«,  wasn't  he  there?"  cried  Dupre, 
with  a  note  of  disappointment  in  his  voice. 

The  policeman  didn't  notice  the  disappointed  tone, 
but  answered — 

"Oh,  the £-argo?i,  of  course." 

"Ah,"  said  Dupre,  in  a  satisfied  voice,  "  let  us  go 
in,  and  help  them."  Now  the  people  had  begun  to 
gather  in  crowds,  but  kept  at  some  distance  from  the 
caf^.  "  Dynamite  !  dynamite !  "  they  said,  in  awed 
voices  among  themselves. 

A  detachment  of  police  came  mysteriously  from 
somewhere.     They  drove  the  crowd  still  further  back. 

"  What  is  this  man  doing  here  ?  "  asked  the  Chief. 

The  policeman  answered,  "  He's  a  friend  of  ours  ; 
he  lives  in  the  house." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Chief. 

"I  was  going  in,"  said  Dupr^,  "to  find  my  friend, 
the  oflficer,  on  duty  in  the  cafe." 

"Very  well,  come  with  us." 

They  found  the  policeman  insensible  under  the 
d^drts,  with  a  leg  and  both  arms  broken.  Dupre 
helped  to  carry  him  out  to  the  ambulance.  M.  Sonne 
was  breathing  when  they  found  him,  but  died  on  the 
way  to  the  hospital.  The  garcon  had  been  blown  to 
pieces. 

The  Chief  thanked  Dupre  for  his  assistance. 

They  arrested  many  persons,  but  never  discovered 
who  blew  up  the  Caf^  Vernon,  although  it  was  sur- 
mised that  .some  miscreant  had  left  a  bag  containing 
an  infernal  machine,  with  either  the  waiter  or  the  pro- 
prietor. 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 

Public  opinion  had  been  triumphantly  vindicated. 
The  insanity  plea  had  broken  down,  and  Albert  Prior 
was  sentenced  to  be  hanged  by  the  neck  until  he  was 
dead,  and  might  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul. 
Everybody  agreed  that  it  was  a  righteous  verdict,  but 
now  that  he  w  as  sentenced  they  added,  "  Poor 
fellow!" 

Albert  Prior  was  a  young  man  who  had  had  more 
ot  his  own  way  than  was  good  for  him.  His  own 
family — father  mother,  brother,  and  sisters — had 
given  way  to  him  so  much,  that  he  appeared  to  think 
the  world  at  large  should  do  the  same.  The  world 
differed  with  him.  Unfortunately,  the  first  to  oppose 
his  violent  will  was  a  woman — a  girl  almost.  She 
would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  and  told  him  so. 
He  stormed,  of  course,  but  did  not  look  upon  her  op- 
position as  serious.  No  girl  in  her  senses  could  con- 
tinue to  refuse  a  young  man  with  his  prospects  in  life. 
But  when  he  heard  that  she  had  become  engaged 
to  young  Bowen,  the  telegraph  operator,  Prior's  rage 
passed  all  bounds.  He  determined  to  frighten  Bowen 
out  of  the  place,  and  called  at  the  telegraph  oflfice 
for  that  laudable  purpose  ;  but  Bowen  was  the  night 
operator,  and  was  absent.     The  day  man,  with  a  smile, 


rn 


32 


REVENGE! 


not  knowing  what  he  did,  said  Bowen  woidd  hl<cly 
be  found  at  the  Parker  Place,  where  Miss  Johnson 
lived  with  her  aunt,  her  parents  being  dead. 

Prior  ground  his  teeth  and  departed.  He  found 
Miss  Johnson  at  home,  but  alone.  There  was  a 
stormy  scene,  ending  with  the  tragedy.  He  fired  four 
times  at  her,  keeping  the  other  two  bullets  for  him- 
self. But  he  was  a  coward  and  a  cur  at  heart,  and 
when  it  came  to  the  point  of  putting  the  two  bullets 
in  himself  he  quailed,  and  thought  it  best  to  escape. 
Then  electricity  did  him  its  first  dis-service.  It  sent 
his  description  far  and  wide,  capturing  him  twenty-five 
miles  from  his  home.  He  was  taken  back  to  the 
county  town  where  he  lived,  and  lodged  in  gaol. 

Public  opinion,  ever  right  and  all-powerful,  now  as- 
serted itself.  The  outward  and  visible  sign  of  its 
action  was  an  ominous  gathering  of  dark-browed  citi- 
zens outside  the  gaol.  There  were  determined  mut- 
terings  among  the  crowd  rather  than  outspoken  anger, 
but  the  mob  was  the  more  dangerous  on  that  account. 
One  man  in  its  midst  thrust  his  closed  hand  towards 
the  sky,  and  from  his  fist  dangled  a  rope.  A  cry  like 
the  growling  of  a  pack  of  wolves  went  up  as  the  mob 
saw  the  rope,  and  they  clamoured  at  the  gates  of  the 
gaol.  "  Lynch  him  !  Gaoler,  give  up  the  keys  !  "  was 
the  cry. 

The  agitated  sheriff  knew  his  duty,  but  he  hesitated 
to  perform  it.  Technically,  this  was  a  mob — a  mob 
of  outlaws ;  but  in  reality  it  was  composed  of  his 
fellow-townsmen,  his  neighbours,  his  friends — justly 
indignant  at  the  commission  of  an  atrocious  crime. 
He  might  order  them  to  be  fired  upon,  and  the  order 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


3.5 


perhaps  would  be  obeyed.  One,  two,  a  dozen  might 
be  killed,  and  technically  again  they  would  have  de- 
served their  fate  :  yet  all  that  perfectly  legal  slaughter 
would  be — for  what  ?  To  save,  for  a  time  only,  the 
worthless  life  of  a  wretch  who  rightly  merited  any 
doom  the  future  might  have  in  store  for  him.  So 
the  sheriff  wrung  his  hands,  bewailed  the  fact  that 
such  a  crisis  should  have  arisen  during  his  term  of 
ofifice,  and  did  nothing;  while  the  clamours  of  the 
mob  grew  so  loud  that  the  trembling  prisoner  in  his 
cell  heard  it,  and  broke  out  into  a  cold  sweat  when  he 
quickly  realised  what  it  meant.  He  was  to  have  a 
dose  of  justice  in  the  raw. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  asked  the  gaoler.  "  Give  up 
the  keys  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  cried  the  sheriff,  de- 
spairingly. *'  Would  there  be  any  use  in  speaking  to 
them,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Not  the  slightest." 

**  I  ought  to  call  on  them  to  disperse,  and  if  they 
refused  I  suppose  I  should  have  them  fired  on." 

"  That  is  the  law,"  answered  the  gaoler,  grimly. 

*'  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  in  my  place  ?  " 
appealed  the  sheriff.  It  was  evident  the  stern  Roman 
Father  was  not  elected  by  popular  vote  in  tJiat 
county. 

"Me?"  said  the  gaoler.  ''Oh,  I'd  give  'em  the 
keys,  and  let  'em  hang  him.  It'll  save  you  the  trouble. 
If  you  have  'em  fired  on,  you're  sure  to  kill  the  very 
men  who  are  at  this  moment  urging  'em  to  go  home. 
There's  always  an  innocent  man  in  a  mob,  and  he's 
the  one  to  get  hurt  every  time." 


34 


REVENGE  I 


"  Well  then,  Perkins,  you  give  them  the  keys ;  but 
for  Heaven's  sake  don't  say  I  told  you.  They'll  be 
sorry  for  this  to-morrow.  You  know  I'm  elected,  but 
you're  appointed,  so  you  don't  need  to  mind  what 
people  say." 

"  That's  all  right,"  said  the  gaoler,  "  I'll  stand  the 
brunt." 

But  the  keys  were  not  given  up.  The  clamour  had 
ceased.  A  young  man  with  pale  face  and  red  eyes 
stood  on  the  top  of  the  stone  wall  that  surrounded 
the  gaol.  He  held  up  his  hand  and  there  was  instant 
silence.  They  all  recognised  him  as  Bowen,  the 
night  operator,  to  whom  she  had  been  engaged. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  cried — and  his  clear  voice  reached 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd — "  don't  do  it.  Don't  put 
an  everlasting  stain  on  the  fair  name  of  our  town. 
No  one  has  ever  been  lynched  in  this  county  and 
none  in  this  State,  so  far  i's  I  know.  Don't  let  us 
begin  it.  If  I  thought  the  miserable  scoundrel  inside 
would  escape — if  I  thought  his  money  would  buy  him 
off — I'd  be  the  man  to  lead  you  to  batter  down  those 
doors  and  hang  him  on  the  nearest  tree — and  you 
know  it."     There  were  cheers  at  '  "  But  he  won't 

escape.     His  money  can't  br  off.     He   will  be 

hanged  by  the  law.  Dor  .link  it's  mercy  I'm 
preaching;  it's  vengeance!  Bowen  shook  his 
clenched  fist  at  the  gaol.  "  That  wretch  there  has 
been  in  hell  ever  since  he  heard  your  shouts.  He'll 
be  in  hell,  for  he's  a  dastard,  until  the  time  his  trem- 
bling legs  carry  him  to  the  scaffold.  I  want  him  to 
in  this  hell  till  he  drops  through  into  the  other, 


stay 


if  there  is  one.     I   want  him  to  suffer  some  of  the 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


35 


mibcry  he  lias  caused.  Lynching  is  over  in  a  mo* 
ment.  I  want  that  murderer  to  die  by  the  slow  mer- 
ciless cruelty  of  the  law." 

Even  the  worst  in  the  crowd  shuddered  as  they 
heard  these  words  and  realised  as  they  looked  at 
Bowen's  face,  almost  inhuman  in  its  rage,  that  his 
thirst  for  revenge  made  their  own  seem  almost  inno- 
cent. The  speech  broke  up  the  crowd.  The  man 
with  the  rope  threw  it  over  into  the  gaol-yard,  shout- 
ing to  the  sheriff,  *'  Take  care  of  it,  old  man,  you'll 
need  it." 

The  crowd  dispersed,  and  the  sheriff,  overtaking 
IJowen,  brought  his  hand  down  affectionately  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  Bowen,  my  boy,"  he  said,  '*  you're  a  brick.  I'm 
everlastingly  obliged  to  you.  You  got  me  out  of  an 
awful  hole.  If  you  ever  get  into  a  tight  place,  Bowen, 
come  to  me,  and  if  money  or  influence  will  help  you, 
you  can  have  all  I've  got  of  either." 

**  Thanks,"  said  Bowen,  shortly.  He  was  not  in  a 
mood  for  congratulations. 

And  so  it  came  about,  just  ;  s  Bowen  knew  it  would, 
that  all  the  money  and  influence  of  the  Prior  family 
could  not  help  the  murderer,  and  he  was  sentenced  to 
be  hanged  on  September  21,  at  6  a.  m.  And  thus 
public  opinion  was  satisfied. 

But  the  moment  the  sentence  was  announced,  and 
the  fate  of  the  young  man  settled,  a  curious  change 
began  to  be  noticed  in  public  opinion.  It  seemed  to 
have  veered  round.  There  was  much  sympathy  for 
the  family  of  course.  Then  there  came  to  be  much 
sympathy   for  the  criminal  himself.     People   quoted 


■■■■■i 


36 


REVENGE! 


the  phrase  about  the  worst  use  a'  man  can  be  put  to. 
Ladies  sent  flowers  to  the  condemned  man's  cell. 
After  all,  hanging  him,  poor  fellow,  would  not  bring 
Miss  Johnson  back  to  life.  However,  few  spoke  of 
Miss  Johnson,  she  was  forgotten  by  all  but  one  man, 
who  ground  his  teeth  when  he  realised  the  instability 
of  public  opinion. 

Petitions  were  got  up,  headed  by  the  local  clergy. 
Women  begged  for  signatures,  and  got  them.  Every 
man  and  woman  signed  them.  All  except  one  ;  and 
even  he  was  urged  to  sign  by  a  tearful  lady,  who_ 
asked  him  to  remember  that  vengeance  was  the  Lord's. 

"  But  the  Lord  has  his  instruments,"  said  Bowen, 
grimly  ;  "  and  I  swear  to  you,  madam,  that  if  you  suc- 
ceed in  getting  that  murderer  reprieved,  I  will  be 
the  instrument  of  the  Lord's  vengeance." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that,"  pleaded  the  lady.  "Your 
signature  would  have  such  an  effect.  You  were  noble 
once  and  saved  him  from  lynching ;  be  noble  again 
and  save  him  from  the  gallows." 

**  I  shall  certainly  not  si^n.  It  is,  if  you  will  pardon 
me,  an  insult  to  ask  me.  If  you  reprieve  him  you 
will  make  a  murderer  of  me,  for  I  will  kill  him  when 
he  comes  out,  if  it  is  twenty  years  from  now.  You 
talk  of  lynching  ;  it  is  such  work  as  you  are  doing 
that  makes  lynching  possible.  The  people  seem  all 
with  you  now,  more  shame  to  them,  but  the  next 
murder  that  is  committed  will  be  followed  by  a  lynch- 
ing just  because  you  are  successful  to-day." 

The  lady  left  Bo*ven  with  a  sigh,  depressed  because 
of  the  depravity  of  human  nature,  as  indeed  she  had 
every  right  to  be. 


f  / 


it 


i 


il 


I 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


37 


The  Prior  family  was  a  rich  and  influential  one. 
The  person  who  is  alive  has  many  to  help ;  the  one  in 
the  grave  has  few  to  cry  for  justice.  Petitions  calling 
for  mercy  poured  in  on  the  governor  from  all  parts  of 
the  State.  The  good  man,  whose  eye  was  entirely  on 
his  own  re-election,  did  not  know  what  to  do.  If 
any  one  could  have  shown  him  mathematically  that 
this  action  or  the  other  would  gain  or  lose  him 
exactly  so  many  votes,  his  course  would  have  been 
clear,  but  his  own  advisers  were  uncertain  about  the 
matter.  A  mistake  in  a  little  thing  like  this  might 
easily  lose  him  the  election.  Sometimes  it  was 
rumoured  that  the  governor  was  going  to  commute 
the  sentence  to  imprisonment  for  life  ;  then  the  rumour 
was  contradicted. 

People  claimed,  apparently  with  justice,  that  surely 
imprisonment  for  life  was  a  sufficient  punishment  for 
a  young  man  ;  but  every  one  knew  in  his  own  heart 
that  the  commutation  was  only  the  beginning  of  the 
fight,  and  that  a  future  governor  would  have  sufficient 
pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  let  the  young 
man  go. 

Up  to  September  20  the  governor  made  no  sign. 
When  Bowen  went  to  his  duties  on  the  night  of  the 
20th  he  met  the  sheriff. 

"  Has  any  reprieve  arrived  yet  ?  "  asked  Bowen. 
The  sheriff  shook  his  head  sadly.  He  had  never  yet 
hanged  a  man,  and  did  not  wish  to  begin. 

"  No,"  said  the  sheriff.  "  And  from  what  I  heard  this 
afternoon  none  is  likely  to  arrive.  The  governor  has 
made  up  his  mind  at  last  that  the  law  must  take  its 


course. 


38 


REVENGE! 


"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  Bowen. 

"  Well,  I'm  not." 

After  nine  o'clock  messages  almost  ceased  coming 
in,  and  Bowen  sat  reading  the  evening  paper.  Sud- 
denly there  came  a  call  for  the  office,  and  the  opera- 
tor answered.  As  the  message  came  over  the  wire, 
Bowen  wrote  it  down  mechanically  from  the  clicking 
instrument,  not  understanding  its  purport ;  but  when 
he  read  it,  he  jumped  to  his  feet,  with  an  oath.  He 
looked  wildly  around  the  room,  then  realised  with  a 
sigh  of  relief  that  he  was  alone,  v_xcept  for  the  messen 
ger  boy  who  sat  dozing  in  a  corner,  with  his  cap  over 
his  eyes.  He  took  up  the  telegram  again,  and  read 
it  with  set  teeth. 

**  '  Sheriff  of  Brenting  County,  Brcntingville. 

"  Do  not  proceed  further  with  execution  of  Prio'-. 
Sentence  commuted.  Documents  sent  off  by  to- 
night's mail  registered.  Answer  that  you  understand 
this  message. 

"  John  Day,  Governor y 

Bowen  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with  knitted 
brow.  He  was  in  no  doubt  as  to  what  he  would  do, 
but  he  wanted  to  think  over  it.  The  telegraph  in- 
strument called  to  him  and  he  turned  to  it,  giving  the 
answering  click.  The  message  was  to  himself  from 
the  operator  at  the  capital,  and  it  told  him  he  was  to 
forward  the  sheriff's  telegram  without  delay,  and  re- 
port to  the  office  at  the  capital — a  man's  life  depended 
on  it,  the  message  concluded.  Bowen  answered  that 
the  telegram  to  the  sheriff  would  be  immediately 
sent. 


iiid 


L'd 

do, 
i  li- 
the 
oni 
to 
rc- 
ied 
hat 
ely 


"no  Noi    I'Kuci.i'.i"  irkiiii'K  wiih    i:\i,(  i  ims.'     /'i/^v  j'T. 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


39 


Taking  another  telegraph  blank,  he  wrote : — 

"  Sheriff  of  Brenting  County,  Brentingville. 
"  Proceed  with  execution  of  Prior.    No  reprieve  will 
be  sent.     Reply  if  you  understand  this  message. 

"John  Day,  Governor^ 

It  is  a  pity  it  cannot  be  written  that  Bowen  felt 
some  compunction  at  what  he  was  doing.  We  like  to 
think  that,  when  a  man  deliberately  commits  a  crime, 
he  should  hesitate  and  pay  enough  deference  to  the 
proprieties  as  to  feel  at  least  a  temporary  regret,  even 
if  he  goes  on  with  his  crime  afterward  Bowen's 
thoughts  were  upon  the  dead  girl  not  on  the  living 
man.     He  roused  the  dozing  telegiaph  messenger. 

**  Here,"  he  said,  "  take  this  to  the  gaol  and  find  the 
sheriff.  If  he  is  not  there,  go  to  his  residence.  If  he 
is  asleep,  wake  him  up.  Tell  him  this  wants  an 
answer.  Give  him  a  blank,  and  when  he  has  filled 
it  up,  bring  it  to  me;  give  the  message  to  no  one 
else,  mind." 

The  boy  said  '*  Yes,  sir,"  and  departed  into  the 
night.  He  returned  so  quickly  that  Bowen  knew  with- 
out asking  that  he  had  found  the  sleepless  sheriff  at 
the  gaol.  The  message  to  the  governor,  written  in  a 
trembling  hand  by  the  sheriff,  was:  "I  understand 
that  the  execution  is  to  take  place.  If  you  should 
change  your  mind,  for  God's  sake  telegraph  as  soon  as 
possible.  I  shall  delay  execution  until  last  moment 
allowed  by  law." 

Bowen  did  not  send  that  message,  but  another. 
I  fe  laughed — and  then  checked  himself  in  alarm,  for 
sounded  strange.     "  I  wonder  if  I  a 


laugh 


sane,"  he  said  to  himself. 


I  doubt  it. 


qui 


40 


REVENGE! 


•I  1 


The  night  wore  slowly  on.  A  man  representing  a 
Press  association  came  in  after  twelve  and  sent  a  long 
dispatch.  Bowen  telegraphed  it,  taking  the  chances 
that  the  receiver  would  not  communicate  with  the 
sender  of  the  reprieve  at  the  capital.  He  knew  how 
mechanically  news  of  the  greatest  importance  was 
taken  off  the  wire  by  men  who  have  automatically 
been  doing  that  for  years.  Anyhow  all  the  copper  and 
zinc  in  the  world  could  not  get  a  message  into  Brent- 
ingville,  except  through  him,  until  the  day  operator 
came  on,  and  then  it  would  be  too  late. 

The  newspaper  man,  lingering,  asked  if  there  would 
be  only  one  telegrapher  on  hand  after  the  execution. 

"  I  shall  have  a  lot  of  stuff  to  send  over  and  I  want 
it  rushed.  Some  of  the  papers  may  get  out  specials. 
I  would  have  brought  an  operator  with  me  but  we 
thought  there  was  going  to  be  a  reprieve— although 
the  sheriff  didn't  seem  to  think  so,"  he  added. 

"  The  day  operator  vill  be  here  at  six,  I  will  return 
as  soon  as  I  have  had  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  we'll  handle 
all  you  can  write,"  answered  Bowen,  without  looking 
up  from  his  instrument. 

"Thanks.     Grim  business,  isn't  it?" 

**  It  is." 

"  I  thought  the  governor  would  cave  ;  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know." 

"  He's  a  shrewd  old  villain.  He'd  have  lost  next 
election  if  he'd  reprieved  this  man.  People  don't 
want  to  see  lynching  introduced,  and  a  weak-kneed 
governor  is  Judge  Lynch's  friend.  Well,  good-night, 
see  you  in  the  morning." 

"  Good-night,"  s.iid  Bowen. 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


41 


Daylighl  gradually  dimmed  the  lamps  in  the  tele- 
graph room,  and  Bowen  started  and  caught  his  breath 
as  the  church  bell  began  to  toll. 

It  was  ten  miautes  after  six  when  Bowen's  partner, 
the  day  man,  came  in. 

"  Well,  they've  hanged  him,"  he  said. 

Bowen  was  fumbling  among  some  papers  on  his 
table.  He  folded  two  of  them  and  put  them  in  his 
inside  pocket.     Then  he  spoke  : 

"  There  will  be  a  newspaper  man  here  in  a  few  mo- 
ments with  a  good  deal  of  copy  to  telegraph.  Rush  it 
off  as  fast  as  you  can  and  I'll  be  back  to  help  before 
you  are  tired." 

As  Bowen  walked  towards  the  gaol  he  met  the 
scattered  group  of  those  who  had  been  privileged  to 
see  the  execution.  They  were  discussing  capital  pun- 
ishment, and  some  were  yawningly  complaining  about 
the  unearthly  hour  chosen  for  the  function  they  had 
just  beheld.  Between  the  outside  gate  and  ^the  gaol 
door  Bowen  met  the  sheriff,  who  was  looking  ghastly 
and  sallow  in  the  fresh  morning  light. 

"  I  have  come  to  give  myself  up,"  said  Bowen, 
before  the  ofHcial  could  greet  him. 

"  To  give  yourself  up?      What  for?" 

"  For  murder,  I  suppose." 
,   "  This  is  no  time  for  joking,  young  man,"  said  the 
sheriff,  severely. 

"  Do  I  look  like  a  humourist  ?     Read  that." 

len  horror,  oversi 


lity, 


spread  the  hag- 


gard face  of  the  sheriff  as  he  read  and  re-read  the  dis- 
patch. He  staggered  back  against  the  wall,  putting 
up  his  arm  to  keep  himself  from  falling. 


! 


"i  I 


^t?f'  ■ 


42 


REVENGE 


**  Boweii,"  he  gasped.  "Do  you— do  you  mean  to 
— to  tell  me — that  this  message  came  for  me  last 
night?" 

"I  do." 

"  And  you — you  suppressed  it  ?  " 

"I  did — and  sent  you  a  false  one." 

*'  And  I  have  hanged — a  reprieved  man  ?  " 

*'  You  have  hanged  a  murderer — yes." 

"  My  God  !  My  God  !"  cried  the  sheriff.  He  turned 
his  face  on  his  arm  against  the  wall  and  wept.  His 
nerves  were  gone.  He  had  been  up  all  night  and  had 
never  hanged  a  man  before. 

Bowen  stood  there  until  the  spasm  was  over.  The 
sheriff  turned  indignantly  to  him,  trying  to  hide  the 
feeling  of  shame  he  felt  at  giving  way,  in  anger  at  the 
witness  of  it. 

"And  you  come  to  me,  you  villain,  because  I  said 
I  would  help  you  if  you  ever  got  into  a  tight  place  ?  " 

"Damn  your  tight  place,"  cried  the  young  man, 
*•  I  come  to  you  to  give  myself  up.  I  stand  by  what  I 
do.  I  don't  squeal.  There  will  be  no  petitions  got 
up  for  7ne.     What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Bowen,  I  don't  know,"  faltered  the 
ofificial,  on  the  point  of  breaking  down  again.  He 
did  not  wish  to  have  to  hang  another  man,  and  a 
friend  at  that.  "  I'll  have  to  see  the  governor.  I'll 
leave  by  the  first  train.  I  don't  suppose  you'll  try  to 
escape." 

"  I'll  be  here  when  you  want  me.** 

So  Bowen  went  back  to  help  the  day  operator,  and 
the  sheriff  left  by  the  first  train  for  the  capital. 

Now  a  strange  thing  happened.     For  the  first  time 


AN  ELECTRICAL  SLIP. 


43 


the 
He 
id  a 
I'll 
y  to 


within  human  recollection  the  newspapers  were  unani- 
mous in  commending  the  conduct  of  the  head  of  the 
State,  the  organs  of  the  governor's  own  party  lavishly 
praising  him  ;  the  opposition  sheets  grudgingly  ad- 
mitting that  he  had  more  backbone  than  they  had 
<>iven  him  credit  for.  Public  opinion,  like  the  cat  of 
the  simile,  had  jumped,  and  that  unmistakably. 

**  lii  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,  sheriff,"  said 
the  bewildered  governor,  "  who  signed  all  those  peti- 
tions? If  the  papers  wanted  the  man  hanged,  why,  in 
the  fiend's  name,  did  they  not  say  so  before,  and  save 
me  all  this  worry  ?  Now  how  many  know  of  this 
suppressed  dispatch  ?  " 

"Well,  there's  you  and  your  subordinates  here 
and " 

"  W^7/  say  nothing  about  it." 

"  An  '  then  there  is  me  and  Bowen  in  Brentingville. 
That's  all." 

"Well,  Bowen  will  keep  quiet  for  his  own  sake,  and 
you  won't  mention  it." 

"Certainly  not." 

"  Then  let's  a//  keep  quiet.  The  thing's  safe  if 
some  of  those  newspaper  fellows  don't  get  after  it. 
It's  not  on  record  in  the  books,  and  I'll  burn  all  the 
documents." 

And  thus  it  was.  Public  opinion  was  once  more 
vindicated.  The  governor  was  triumphantly  re- 
elected as  a  man  with  some  stamina  about  him. 


and 


time 


:X 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

It  is  a  bad  thing  for  a  man  to  die  with  an  unsatis- 
fied thirst  for  revenge  parching  his  soul.  David  Allen 
died,  cursing  Bernard  Heaton  and  lawyer  Grey  ;  hat- 
ing the  lawyer  who  had  won  the  case  even  more  than 
the  man  who  was  to  gain  by  the  winning.  Yet  if 
cursing  were  to  be  done,  David  should  rather  have 
cursed  his  own  stubbornness  and  stupidity. 

To  go  back  for  some  years,  this  is  what  had  hap- 
pened. Squire  Beaton's  only  son  went  wrong.  The 
Squire  raged,  as  was  natural.  He  was  one  of  a  long  line 
of  hard-drinking,  hard-riding,  hard-swearing  squires, 
and  it  was  maddening  to  think  that  his  only  son 
should  deliberately  take  to  books  and  cold  water, 
when  there  was  manly  sport  on  the  country  side  and 
old  wine  in  the  cellar.  Yet  before  now  such  blows 
have  descended  upon  deserving  men,  and  they  have  to 
be  borne  as  best  they  may.  Squire  Heaton  bore  it 
badly,  and  when  his  son  went  off  on  a  government 
scientific  expedition  around  the  world  the  Squire 
drank  harder,  and  swore  harder  than  ever,  but  never 
mentioned  the  boy's  name. 

Two  years  after,  young  Heaton  returned,  but  the 
doors  of  the  Hall  were  closed  against  him.  He  had 
no  mother  to  plead  for  him,  although  it  was  not  likely 
that  would  have  made  any  difference,  for  the  Squire 


atis- 
k-llen 
hat- 
than 
et  if 
have 

hap- 
The 
gline 
uires, 
r  son 
ater, 
and 
lows 
ve  to 
ore  it 
ment 
quire 
never 

[t  the 

had 

|likely 

>quire 


HIS    llKsr    ACT    WAS   TO    DISCll  AKi  il'I    KVKRY   SliRVAN  l.  — A/J,''^   4$. 


U  .;«■ 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF    lllE  DEAD.       45 


was  nut  a  man  to  be  appealed  to  and  swayed  this  way 
or  that.  He  took  his  hedges,  his  drinks,  and  his 
course  in  Ufe  straight.  The  young  man  went  to 
India,  where  he  was  drowned.  As  there  is  no  mystery 
in  this  matter,  it  may  as  well  be  stated  here  that 
young  Heaton  ultimately  returned  to  England,  as 
drowned  men  have  ever  been  in  the  habit  of  doing, 
when  their  return  will  mightily  inconvenience  inno- 
cent persons  who  have  taken  their  places.  It  is  a 
disputed  question  whether  the  sudden  disappearance 
of  a  man,  or  his  reappearance  after  a  lapse  of  years,  is 
the  more  annoying. 

If  the  old  Squire  felt  remorse  at  the  supposed  death 
of  his  only  son  he  did  not  show  it.  The  hatred  which 
had  been  directed  against  his  unnatural  offspring  re- 
doubled itself  and  was  bestowed  on  his  nephew  David 
Allen,  who  was  now  the  legal  heir  to  the  estate  and 
its  income.  Allen  was  the  impecunious  son  of  the 
Squire's  sister  who  had  married  badly.  It  is  hard  to 
starve  when  one  is  heir  to  a  fine  property,  but  that  is 
what  David  did,  and  it  soured  him.  The  Jews  would 
not  lend  on  the  security — the  son  might  return — so 
David  Allen  waited  for  a  dead  man's  shoes,  impov- 
erished and  embittered. 

At  last  the  shoes  were  ready  for  him  to  step  into. 
The  old  Squire  died  as  a  gentleman  should,  of  ap- 
oplexy, in  his  armchair,  with  a  decanter  at  his  elbow  ; 
David  Allen  entered  into  his  belated  inheritance,  and 
his  first  act  was  to  discharge  every  servant,  male  and 
female,  about  the  place  and  engage  others  who  owed 
their  situations  to  him  alone.  Then  were  the  Jews 
sorry  they  had  not  trusted  him. 


f 


TTi^ 


i 


lit  ' 


46 


REVENGE! 


He  was  now  rich  but  broken  in  health,  with  bent 
shoulders,  without  a  friend  on  the  earth.  He  was  a 
man  suspicious  of  all  the  world,  and  he  had  a  furtive 
look  over  his  shoulder  as  if  he  expected  Fate  to  deal 
him  a  sudden  blow — as  indeed  it  did. 

It  was  a  beautiful  June  day,  when  there  passed  the 
porter's  lodge  and  walked  up  the  avenue  to  the  main 
entrance  of  the  Hall  a  man  whose  face  was  bronzed  by 
a  torrid  sun.  He  requested  speech  with  the  master 
and  was  asked  into  a  room  to  wait. 

At  length  David  Allen  shuffled  in,  with  his  bent 
shoulders,  glaring  at  the  intruder  from  under  his 
bushy  eyebrows.  The  stranger  rose  as  he  entered 
and  extended  his  hand. 

"  You  don't  know  me,  of  course.  I  believe  we  have 
never  met  before.     I  am  your  cousin.** 

Allen  ignored  the  outstretched  hand. 

"  I  have  no  cousin, '  he  said. 

"  I  am  Bernard  Heaton,  the  son  of  your  uncle." 

"  Bernard  Heaton  is  dead." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  he  is  not.  I  ought  to  know, 
for  I  tell  you  I  am  he." 

"You  lie!" 

Heaton,  who  had  been  standing  since  his  cousin's 
entrance,  now  sat  down  again,  Allen  remaining  on  his 
feet. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  new-comer.  "  Civility  costs 
nothing  and " 

"  I  cannot  be  civil  to  an  impostor." 

**  Quite  so.  It  is  difficult.  Still,  if  I  am  an  im- 
postor, civility  can  do  no  harm,  while  if  it  should  turn 
out  that  I  am  not  an  impostor,  then  your  present  tone 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.   47 

may  make  after  arrangements  all  the  harder  upon  you. 
Now  will  you  oblige  me  by  sitting  down  ?  I  dislike, 
while  sitting  myself,  talking  to  a  standing  man." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  by  stating  what  you  want  be- 
fore I  order  my  servants  to  turn  you  out?  " 

**  I  see  you  are  going  to  be  hard  on  yourself.  I  will 
endeavour  to  keep  my  temper,  and  if  I  ^^ucceed  it  will 
be  a  triumph  for  a  member  of  our  family.  I  am  to 
state  what  I  want  ?  I  will.  I  want  as  my  own  the 
three  rooms  on  the  first  floor  of  the  south  wing — the 
rooms  communicating  with  each  other.  You  perceive 
I  at  least  know  the  house.  I  want  my  meals  served 
there,  and  I  wish  to  be  undisturbed  at  all  hours. 
Next  I  desire  that  you  settle  upon  me  say  five  hun- 
dred a  year — or  six  hundred — out  of  the  revenues  of 
th*"  estate.  I  am  engaged  in  scientific  research  of  a 
peculiar  kind.  I  can  make  money,  of  course,  but  I 
wish  my  mind  left  entirely  free  from  financial  worry. 
1  shall  not  interfere  with  your  enjoyment  of  the  estate 
in  the  least." 

'•  I'll  wager  you  will  not.  So  you  think  I  am  fool 
enough  to  harbour  and  feed  the  first  idle  vagabond 
that  comes  along  and  claims  to  be  my  dead  cousin. 
Go  to  the  courts  with  your  story  and  be  imprisoned 
as  similar  perjurers  have  been." 

"  Of  course  I  don't  expect  you  to  take  my  word  for 
it.  If  you  were  any  judge  of  human  nature  you 
would  see  I  am  not  a  vagabond.  Still  that's  neither 
here  nor  there.  Choose  three  of  y^-r  own  friends.  I 
will  lay  my  proofs  before  them  and  abide  by  their  de- 
cision. Come,  nothing  could  be  fairer  than  that,  now 
could  it  ?  " 


ml 


m 


ill  I 


11  > 


1 


Si  ■;  ■• 

I'M 


48 


REVENGE! 


"  Go  to  the  courts,  I  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  certainly.  But  only  as  a  last  resort.  No  wise 
man  goes  to  law  if  there  is  another  course  open.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  taking  such  an  absurd  position  ? 
Vou  hioiu  I'm  your  cousin.  I'll  take  you  blindfold 
into  every  room  in  the  place." 

"  Any  discharged  servant  could  do  that.  I  have 
had  enough  of  you.  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  black- 
mailed. Will  you  leave  the  house  yourself,  or  shall  I 
call  the  servants  to  put  you  out  ?  " 

**  I  should  be  sorry  to  trouble  you,"  said  Heaton, 
rising.     "That  is  your  last  word-  I  take  it?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

"Then  good-bye.     We  shall  meet  at  Philippi." 

Allen  watched  him  disappear  down  the  avenue,  and 
it  dimly  occurred  to  him  that  he  had  not  acted  dip- 
lomatically. 

Heaton  went  directly  to  lawyer  Grey,  and  laid  the 
case  before  him.  He  told  the  lawyer  what  his  modest 
demands  were,  and  gave  instructions  that  if,  at  any 
time  before  the  suit  came  off,  his  cousin  would  com- 
promise, an  arrangement  avoiding  publicity  should  be 
arrived  at. 

"  Excuse  me  for  saying  that  looks  like  weakness,' 
remarked  ihe  lawyer. 

"  I  know  it  does,"  answered  Heaton.  "  But  mv  case 
is  so  strong  that  I  can  afford  to  have  it  appear  weak." 

The  lawyer  shook  his  head.  He  knew  how  uncer- 
tain the  law  was.  But  he  soon  discovered  that  no 
compromise  was  possible. 

The  case  came  to  trial,  and  the  verdict  was  entirely 
in  favour  of  Bernard  Heaton. 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.   49 

The  pallor  of  death  spread  over  the  sallow  face  of 
David  Allen  as  he  realised  that  he  was  once  again  a 
man  without  a  penny  or  a  foot  of  land.  He  left  the 
court  with  bowed  head,  speaking  no  word  to  those 
who  had  defended  him.  Heaton  hurried  after  him, 
overtaking  him  on  the  pavement. 

'*  I  knew  this  had  to  be  the  result,"  he  said  to  the 
defeated  man.  "  No  other  outcome  was  possible.  I 
have  no  desire  to  cast  you  penniless  into  the  street. 
What  you  refused  to  me  I  shall  be  glad  to  offer  you. 
1  will  make  the  annuity  a  thousand  pounds." 

Allen,  trembling,  darted  one  look  of  malignant  hate 
at  his  cousin. 

"  You  successful  scoundrel!"  he  cried.  "  You  and 
your  villainous  confederate  Grey.     I  tell  you " 

The  blood  rushed  to  his  mouth  ;  he  fell  upon  the 
pavement  and  died.  One  and  the  same  day  had 
robbed  him  of  his  land  and  his  life. 

Bernard  Heaton  deeply  regretted  the  tragic  issue, 
but  went  on  with  his  researches  at  the  Hall,  keeping 
much  to  himself.  Lawyer  Grey,  who  had  won  renown 
by  his  conduct  of  the  celebrated  case,  was  almost  his 
only  friend.  To  him  Heaton  partially  disclosed  his 
hopes,  told  what  he  had  learned  during  those  years  he 
had  been  lost  to  the  world  in  India,  and  claimed  that 
if  he  succeeded  in  combining  the  occultism  of  the  East 
with  the  science  of  the  West,  he  would  make  for  him- 
self a  name  of  imperishable  renown. 

The  lawyer,  a  practical  man  of  the  wo*  Id,  tried  to 
persuade  Heaton  to  abandon  his  particular  line  of  re- 
search, but  without  success. 

"No  good  can  conic  of  it,"  said  Grey.     "India  has 


^^tmsmmmm 


50 


REVENGE! 


I.i 


spoiled  you.  Men  who  dabble  too  much  in  that  sort 
of  thing  go  mad.  The  brain  is  a  delicate  instrument. 
Do  not  trifle  with  it." 

**  Nevertheless,"  persisted  Heaton,  "  the  great  dis- 
coveries of  the  twentieth  century  are  going  to  be  in 
that  line,  just  as  the  great  discoveries  of  the  nineteenth 
century  have  been  in  the  direction  of  electricity." 

**  The  cases  are  not  parallel.  Electricity  is  a  tangi- 
ble substance." 

"  Is  it  ?  Then  tel'  me  what  it  is  composed  of?  We 
all  know  how  it  is  generated,  and  we  know  partly 
what  it  will  do,  but  what  is  it. 

"  I  shall  have  to  charge  you  six-and-eightpence  for 
answering  that  question,"  the  lawyer  had  said  with  a 
laugh.  "  At  any  rate  there  is  a  good  deal  to  be  dis- 
covered about  electricity  yet.  Turn  your  attention 
to  that  and  leave  this  Indian  nonsense  alone." 

Yet,  astonishing  as  it  may  seem,  Bernard  Heaton, 
to  his  undoing,  succeeded,  after  many  futile  attempts, 
several  times  narrowly  escaping  death.  Inventors 
and  discoverers  have  to  risk  their  lives  as  often  as 
soldiers,  with  less  chance  of  worldly  glory.  1 

First  his  invisible  excursions  were  confined  to  the 
house  and  his  own  grounds,  then  he  went  further 
afield,  and  to  his  intense  astonishment  one  day  he  met 
the  spirit    f  the  man  who  hated  him. 

•*Ah,'  said  David  Allen,  "you  did  not  live  long  to 
enjoy  your  ill-gotten  gains." 

**  You  are  as  wrong  in  this  sphere  of  existence  as 
you  were  in  the  other.     I  am  not  dead." 

**  Then  why  are  you  here  and  in  this  shape?" 

"  I  suppose  there  is  no  harm  in  telling  j/ofi.     What 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.   51 

I  wanted  to  discover,  at  the  time  you  would  not  give 
me  a  hearing,  was  how  to  separate  the  spirit  from  its 
servant,  the  body — that  is,  temporarily  and  not  finally. 
My  body  is  at  this  moment  lying  apparently  asleep 
in  a  locked  room  in  my  house — one  of  the  rooms  I 
begged  from  you.  In  an  hour  or  two  I  shall  return 
and  take  possession  of  it." 

"And  how  do  you  take  possession  of  it  and  quit 
it?" 

Heaton,  pleased  to  notice  the  absence  of  that  ran- 
cour which  had  formerly  been  Allen's  most  promi- 
nent characteristic,  and  feeling  that  any  information 
given  to  a  disembodied  spirit  was  safe  as  far  as  the 
world  was  concerned,  launched  out  on  the  subject  that 
possessed  his  whole  mind. 

"  It  is  very  interesting,"  said  Allen,  when  he  had 
finished. 

And  so  they  parted.  i 

David  Allen  at  once  proceeded  to  the  Hall,  which 
he  had  not  seen  since  the  day  he  left  it  to  attend  the 
trial.  He  passed  quickly  through  the  familiar  apart- 
ments until  he  entered  the  locked  room  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  south  wing.  There  on  the  bed  lay  the 
body  of  Heaton,  most  of  the  colour  gone  from  the 
face,  but  breathing  regulany,  if  almost  imperceptibly, 
like  a  mechanical  wax-figure. 

If  a  watcher  had  been  in  the  room,  he  would  have 
seen  the  colour  slowly  return  to  the  face  and  the 
sleeper  gradually  awaken,  at  last  rising  from  the  bed. 

Allen,  in  the  body  of  Heaton,  at  first  felt  very  un- 
comfortable, as  a  man  does  who  puts  on  an  ill-fitting 
suit  of  clothes.     The  limitations  caused  by  the  wear- 


52 


REVENGE! 


i 


i:' 


ing  of  a  body  also  discommoded  him.  He  looked 
carefully  around  the  room.  It  was  plainly  furnished. 
A  desk  in  the  corner  he  found  contained  the  MS.  of 
a  book  prepared  for  the  printer,  all  executed  with 
the  neat  accuracy  of  a  scientific  man.  Above  the 
desk,  pasted  against  the  wall,  was  a  sheet  of  paper 
headed  : 

"What  to  do  if  1  am  found  here  apparently  dead." 
Underneath  were  plainly  written  instructions.  It  was 
evident  that  Heaton  had  taken  no  one  into  his  con- 
fidence. 

It  is  well  if  you  go  in  for  revenge  to  make  it  as 
complete  as  possible.  Allen  gathered  up  the  MS., 
placed  it  in  the  grate,  and  set  a  match  to  it.  Thus  he 
at  once  destroyed  his  enemy's  chances  of  posthumous 
renown,  and  also  removed  evidence  that  might,  in 
certain  contingencies,  prove  Heaton's  insanity. 

Unlocking  the  door,  he  proceeded  down  the  stairs, 
where  he  met  a  servant  who  told  him  luncheon  was 
ready.  He  noticed  that  the  servant  was  one  whom  he 
had  discharged,  so  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
Heaton  had  taken  back  all  the  old  retainers  who  had 
applied  to  him  when  the  result  of  the  trial  became 
public.  Before  lunch  was  over  he  saw  that  some  of 
his  own  servants  were  also  there  still. 

"  Send  the  gamekeeper  to  me,"  said  Allen  to  the 
servant. 

Brown  came  in,  who  had  been  on  the  estate  for 
twenty  years  continuously,  with  the  exception  of  the 
few  months  after  Allen  had  packed  him  off. 

"  What  pistols  have  I,  Brown  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  there's  the  old  .Squire's  duelling  pistols, 


the 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.       53 

rather  out  of  date,  sir  ;  then  your  own  pair  and  thiit 
American  revolver." 

"  Is  the  revolver  in  working  order  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir." 

"  Then  bring  it  to  me  and  some  cartridges." 

When  Brown  returned  with  the  revolver  his  master 
took  it  and  examined  it. 

"  Be  careful,  sir,"  said  Brown,  anxiously.  "  You 
know  it's  a  self-cocker,  sir." 

"A  what?" 

**  A  self-cocking  revolver,  sir  " — trying  to  repress 
his  astonishment  at  the  question  his  master  asked 
about  a  weapon  with  which  he  should  have  been 
familiar. 

"  Show  me  what  you  mean,"  said  Allen,  handing 
back  the  revolver. 

Brown  explained  that  the  mere  pulling  of  the 
trigger  fired  the  weapon. 

"  Now  shoot  at  the  end  window — never  mind  the 
glass.     Don't  stand  gaping  at  me,  do  as  I  tell  you." 

Brown  fired  the  revolver,  and  a  diamond  pane 
snapped  out  of  the  window. 

"How  many  times  will  that  shoot  without  reloading?" 

"  Seven  times,  sir." 

"  Very  good.  Put  in  a  cartridge  for  the  one  you 
fired  and  leave  the  revolver  with  me.  Find  out  when 
there  is  a  train  to  town,  and  let  me  know." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  the  dining-room  incide.it 
was  used  at  the  trial,  but  without  effect,  as  going  to 
show  mat  Bernard  Heaton  was  insane.  Brown  also 
testified  that  there  was  something  queer  about  his 
master  that  day. 


"m 


54 


REVENGE! 


David  Allen  found  all  the  money  he  needed  in  the 
pockets  of  Bernard  Heaton.  He  caught  his  train,  and 
took  a  cab  from  the  station  directly  to  the  law  offices 
of  Messrs.  Grey,  Leason  and  Grey,  anxious  to  catch 
the  lawyer  before  he  left  fur  the  day. 

The  clerk  sent  up  word  that  Mr.  Heaton  wished  to 
see  the  senior  Mr.  Grey  for  a  few  moments.  Allen 
was  asked  to  walk  up. 

"  You  know  the  way,  sir,"  said  the  clerk. 

Allen  hesitated. 

''Announce  me,  if  you  please." 

The  clerk,  being  well  trained,  showed  no  surprise, 
but  led  the  visitor  to  Mr.  Grey's  door. 

"  How  are  you,  Heaton  ?  "  said  the  lawyer,  cordially. 
"Take  a  chair.  Where  have  you  been  keeping  your- 
self this  long  time?  How  are  the  Indian  experiments 
coming  on  ?  " 

"  Admirably,  admirably,"  answered  Allen. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  the  lawyer  looked  up 
quickly,  then  apparently  reassured  he  said — 

"You're  not  looking  quite  the  same.  Been  keeping 
yourself  too  much  indoors,  I  imagine.  You  ought  to 
quit  research  aud  do  some  shooting  this  autumn." 

"  I  intend  to,  and  I  hope  then  to  have  your  com- 
pany." 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  run  down,  although  I  am  no 
great  hand  at  a  gun." 

'*  I  want  to  speak  with  you  a  few  moments  in  pri- 
vate. Would  you  mind  locking  the  door  so  that  we 
may  not  be  interrupted  ?  " 

"  We  are  quite  adfc  from  interruption  here,"  said 
the  lawyer,  as  he  turned  the  key  in  the   lock  ;  then 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.   S5 


said 
then 


resuming    his    seat   he    added,    "  Nothing    serious,    I 

hope  ?" 

"It  is  rather  serious.  Do  you  mind  my  sitting 
here.?"  asked  Allen,  as  he  drew  up  his  chair  so  that 
he  was  between  Grey  and  the  door,  with  the  table 
separating  them.  The  lawyer  was  watching  him  with 
anxious  face,  but  without,  as  yet,  serious  apprehen- 
sion. 

"Now,"  said  Allen,  "  will  you  answer  me  a  simple 
question?     To  whom  are  you  talking?" 

"  To  whom ?"     The  lawyer  in  his  amazement 

could  get  no  /urther. 

''Yes.     To  whom  are  you  talking?     Name  him." 

"  Heaton,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?  Are  you 
ill?" 

"  Well,  you  have  mentioned  a  name,  but,  being  a 
villain  and  a  lawyer,  you  cannot  give  a  direct  answer 
to  a  very  simple  question.  You  think  you  are  talking 
to  that  poor  fool  Bernard  Heaton.  It  is  true  that  the 
body  you  are  staring  at  is  Hcaton's  body,  Init  the 
man  you  are  talking  to  is — David  Allen — the  man  you 
swindled  and  then  murdered.  Sit  down.  If  you 
move  you  are  a  dead  man.  Don't  try  to  edge  to  the 
door.  There  are  seven  deaths  in  this  revolver  and 
the  whole  seven  can  be  let  loose  in  less  than  that 
many  seconds,  for  this  is  a  self-cocking  instrument. 
Now  it  will  take  you  at  least  ten  seconds  to  get  to  the 
door,  so  remain  exactly  where  you  are.  That  advice 
will  strike  you  as  wise,  even  if,  as  you  think,  you  have 
to  do  with  a  madman.  You  asked  me  a  minute  ago 
how  the  Indian  experiments  were  coming  on,  and  I 
answered  admirably.     Bernard    Heaton   left  his  body 


n 


m    I   I 


i  I 


I 


-:)i 


5.} 


i     i 


j,l:   .1: 


56 


REVENGE! 


this  morning,  and  I,  David  Allen,  am  now  in  posses- 
sion of  it.  Do  you  understand?  I  admit  it  is  a  little 
difficult  for  the  legal  mind  to  grasp  such  a  situation." 

"  Ah,  not  at  all,"  said  Grey,  airily.  "  I  comprehend 
it  perfectly.  The  man  I  see  before  me  is  the  spirit, 
life,  soul,  whatever  you  like  to  call  it — of  David  Allen 
in  the  body  of  my  friend  Bernard  Heator  The — ah 
— essence  of  my  friend  is  at  this  moment  fruitlessly 
searching  for  his  missing  body.  Perhaps  he  is  in  this 
room  now,  not  knowing  how  to  get  out  a  spiritual 
writ  of  ejectment  against  you." 

"  You  show  more  quickness  than  I  expected  of  you," 
said  Allen. 

"  Thanks,"  rejoined  Grey,  although  he  said  to  him- 
self, *'  Heaton  has  gone  mad!  stark  staring  mad,  as  I 
expected  he  would.  He  is  armed.  The  situation  is 
becoming  dangerous.     I  must  humour  him." 

'*  Thanks.  And  now  may  I  ask  what  you  propose 
to  do  ?  You  have  not  come  here  for  legal  advice. 
You  never,  unluckily  for  me,  were  a  client  of  mine." 

"  No.  I  did  not  come  either  to  give  or  take  ad- 
vice. I  am  here,  alone  with  you — you  gave  orders 
that  we  were  not  to  be  disturbed,  remember — for  the 
sole  purpose  of  revenging  myself  on  you  and  on 
Heaton.  Now  listen,  for  the  scheme  will  commend 
itself  to  your  ingenious  mind.  I  shall  murder  you  in 
this  room.  I  shall  then  give  myself  up.  I  shall  va- 
cate this  body  in  Newgate  prison  and  your  friend 
may  then  resume  his  tenancy  or  not  as  he  chooses. 
He  may  allow  the  unoccupied  body  to  die  in  the 
cell  or  he  may  take  possession  of  it  and  be  hanged 
for  murder.     Do  you   appreciate  the  completeness  of 


)sses- 

little 

.      »» 
ion. 

hend 

jpirit, 

Allen 

2— ah 

lessly 

n  this 

ritual 

you," 

D  him- 
d,  as  I 
tion  is 

ropose 
idvice. 
ine." 
ke  ad- 
orders 
or  the 
md    on 
nmend 
you  in 
lall  va- 
friend 
hooses. 
in   the 
hanged 
;ness  of 


i« 


"uni'N  vol;  j'Kisss   iiii';  ivokv  hijiion,  i  vjri:.''-  Pa^e  s;^. 


\vl' 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.   57 


my  ven<^eance  011  you  both  ?  Do  you  think  your 
friend  will  care  to  put  on  his  body  again  ?" 

*'  It  is  a  nice  question,"  aid  the  lawyer,  as  he  edged 
his  chair  imperceptibly  aiong  and  tried  to  grope  be- 
hind himself,  unperceived  by  his  visitor,  for  the  elec- 
tric button  placed  against  the  wall.  "  It  is  a  nice 
question,  and  I  would  like  to  have  time  to  consider 
it  in  all  its  bearings  before  I  gave  an  answer." 

"  You  shall  have  all  the  time  you  care  to  allow 
yourself.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  and  I  wish  you  to  realise 
your  situation  as  completely  as  possible.  Allow  me 
to  say  that  the  electric  button  is  a  little  to  the  left  and 
slightly  above  where  you  are  feeling  for  it.  I  merely 
mention  this  because  I  must  add,  in  fairness  to  you, 
that  the  moment  you  touch  it,  time  ends  as  far  as  you 
are  concerned.  When  you  press  the  ivory  button,  I 
fire." 

The  lawyer  rested  his  arms  on  the  table  before  him, 
and  for  the  first  time  a  hunted  look  of  alarm  came 
into  his  eyes,  which  died  out  of  them  when,  after  a 
moment  or  two  of  intense  fear,  he  regained  possession 
of  himself. 

"  I  would  like  to  ask  you  a  question  or  two,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"  As  many  as  you  choose.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  as  I 
said  before." 

"  I  an^i  thankful  for  your  reiteration  of  that.  The 
first  question  is  then  :  has  a  temporary  residence  in 
another  sphere  interfered  in  any  way  with  your  rea- 
soning powers?" 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Ah,  I  had  hoped   that  your  appreciation   of  logic 


1 


U 


m 


ill 


fit 


i 

1 

I 

i 

' 

lit' 

kU 

I  I 


5B 


REVENGE 


might  have  improved  during  your — well,  let  us  sav 
absence;  you  were  not  very  logical — not  very  amen- 
able to  reason,  formerly." 

"  I  know  you  thought  so." 

*'  I  did ;  so  did  your  own  legal  adviser,  by  the  way. 
Well,  now  let  me  ask  why  you  are  so  bitter  against 
me?  Why  not  murder  the  judge  who  charged  against 
you,  or  the  jury  tiiat  unanimously  gave  a  verdict  in 
our  favour?  I  was  merely  an  instrument,  as  were 
they." 

*'  It  was  your  devilish  trickincss  that  won  the  case." 

"That  statement  is  flattering  but  untrue.  The  case 
was  its  own  best  advocate.  But  you  haven't  answered 
the  question.     Why  not  murder  judge  and  jury  ?  " 

"  I  would  gladly  do  so  if  I  had  them  in  my  power. 
You  see,  I  am  perfectly  logical. 

**  Quite,  quite,"  said  the  lawyer.  "  I  am  encouraged 
to  proceed.  Now  of  what  did  my  deviHsh  trickiness 
rob  you  ?  " 

"  Of  my  property,  and  then  of  my  life." 

"  I  deny  both  allegations,  but  will  for  the  sake  of 
the  argument  admit  them  for  the  moment.  First,  as 
to  your  property.  It  was  a  possession  that  might  at 
any  moment  be  jeopardised  by  the  return  of  Bernard 
Heaton." 

*'  By  the  rfa/  Bernard  Heaton — yes." 

*'  Very  well  then.  As  you  are  now  repossessed  of 
the  property,  and  as  you  have  the  outward  semblance 
of  Heaton,  your  rights  cannot  be  questioned.  As  far 
as  property  is  concerned  you  are  now  in  an  unassail- 
able position  where  formerly  you  were  in  an  assailable 
one.     Do  you  follow  rne  ?  " 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  THE  DEAD.       59 


IS  say 
amcn- 


i  way. 
Lgainst 
gainst 
diet  in 
;    were 


;  case, 
le  case 
sweiecl 

y- 

power. 

u raged 
ckiness 


ake  of 
irst,  as 
ight  at 
Bernard 


:ssed  of 

nblance 

As  far 

nassail- 

sailable 


"  Perfectly." 

"  We  come  (second)  to  the  question  of  life.  You 
then  occupied  a  body  frail,  bent,  and  diseased,  a  body 
which,  as  events  showed,  gave  way  under  exceptional 
excitement.  You  are  now  in  a  body  strong  and 
healthy,  with  apparently  a  long  life  before  it.  You 
admit  the  truth  of  all  1  have  said  on  these  two 
points? " 

"  I  quite  admit  it." 

"  Then  to  sum  up,  you  are  now  in  a  better  position 
— infinitely — both  as  regards  life  and  property,  than 
the  one  from  which  my  malignity — ingenuity  I  think 
was  your  word— ah,  yes — trickiness — thanks  -removed 
you.  Now  why  cut  your  career  short  ?  Why  murder 
;/ic  .^  Why  not  live  out  your  life,  under  better  con- 
ditions, in  luxury  and  health,  and  thus  be  completely 
revenged  on  Bernard  Heaton  ?  If  you  are  logical, 
now  is  the  time  to  show  it." 

Allen  rose  slowly,  holding  the  pistol  in  his  right 
hand. 

"  You  miserable  scoundrel !  "  he  cried.  ''  You  petti- 
fogging lawyer — tricky  to  the  last !  How  gladly  you 
would  throw  over  your  friend  to  prolong  your  own 
wretched  existence  !  Do  you  think  you  arc  now 
talking  to  a  biased  judge  and  a  susceptible,  brainless 
jury?  Revenged  on  Heaton?  I  am  revenged  on 
him.  already.  But  part  of  my  vengeance  involves 
your  death.     Are  you  ready  for  it?  " 

Allen  pointed  the  revolver  at  Grey,  who  had  now 
also  risen,  his  face  ashen.  He  kept  his  eyes  fastened 
on  the  man  he  believed  to  be  mad.  His  hand  crept 
along  the  wall.     There  was  intense  silence   between 


i 


a- 


li 


3S 


V 

i 

■I  ■ 

!     ■ 

j. 

v>         , 

I  1    > 

i 

60 


REVENGE! 


them.  Allen  did  not  fire.  Slowly  the  lawyer's  hand 
moved  towards  the  electric  button.  At  last  he  felt 
the  ebony  rim  and  his  fingers  quickly  covered  it.  In 
the  stillness,  the  vibrating  ring  of  an  electric  bell 
somewhere  below  was  audible.  Then  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  revolver  suddenly  split  the  silence.  The  lawyer 
dropped  on  one  knee,  holding  his  arm  in  the  air  as  if 
to  ward  off  attack.  Again  the  revolver  rang  out,  and 
Grey  plunged  forward  on  his  face.  The  other  five 
shots  struck  a  lifeless  body. 

A  stratum  of  blue  smoke  hung  breast  high  in  the 
room  as  if  it  were  the  departing  soul  of  the  man  who 
lay  motionless  on  the  floor.  Outside  were  excited 
voices,  and  some  one  flung  himself  ine^  -^tually  against 
the  stout  locked  door. 

Allen  crossed  the  room  and,  turning  the  key,  flung 
open  the  door.  "  I  have  murdered  your  master,"  he 
said,  handing  the  revolver  butt  forward  to  the  nearest 
man.     **  I  give  myself  up.     Go  and  get  an  officer." 


OVER  THE  STELVIO  PASS. 

There  is  no  question  about  it,  Tina  Lenz  was  a 
flirt,  as  she  had  a  perfect  ricrht  to  be,  living  as  she  did 
on  the  romantic  shores  of  Como,  celebrated  in  song, 
story,  and  drama  as  the  lover's  blue  lake.  Tina  had 
many  admirers,  and  it  was  just  like  her  perversity  to 
favoui  the  one  to  whom  her  father  most  objected. 
Pietro,  as  the  father  truly  said,  was  a  beggarly  Italian 
driver,  glad  of  the  few  francs  he  got  from  the  travel- 
lers he  took  over  the  humble  Maloga  to  the  Engadinc, 
or  over  the  elevated  Stelvio  to  the  Tyrol,  the  lowest 
and  the  highest  passes  in  Europe.  It  was  a  sad  blow 
to  the  hopes  as  well  as  the  family  pride  of  old  Lenz 
when  Tma  defiantly  announced  her  preference  for  the 
driver  of  the  Zwe^spanncr.  Old  Lenz  ame  of  a  long 
and  distinguished  line  of  Swiss  hotel-keepers,  noted 
for  the  success  with  which  they  squeezed  the  last  at- 
tainable centime  from  the  reluctant  traveller.  It  was 
bad  enough  that  he  had  no  son  to  inherit  his  justly 
celebrated  hotel  {pension  rates  for  a  stay  of  not  less 
than  eight  days),  but  he  hoped  for  a  son-in-law,  pref- 
erably of  Swiss  extraction,  to  whom  he  might,  in  his 
old  age,  hand  over  the  lucrati  'C  profession  of  deferen- 
tially skinning  the  wealthy  Englishman.  And  now 
Tina  had  deliberately  chosen  a  reckless,  unstable  Ital- 


62 


REVENGE! 


lit  I 'I 


\l 


ian  who  would,  in  a  short  time,  scatter  to  the  winds 
the  careful  accumulation  of  years. 

"  Pietro,  the  scoundrel,  will  not  have  one  piastra  of 
my  money,"  cried  the  old  man  wrathfuUy,  dropping 
into  Italian  as  he  was  speaking  about  a  native  of 
Italy. 

"  No,  I  shall  see  that  he  doesn't,"  said  the  girl.  "  I 
shall  hold  the  purse,  and  he  must  earn  what  he 
spends." 

"  But  if  you  marry  him,  you  will  not  have  any  of 
it." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  shall,  papa,"  said  Tina  confidently ; 
*'  you  have  no  one  else  to  leave  it  to.  Besides,  you 
are  not  old,  and  y(ni  will  be  reconciled  to  our  mar- 
riage long  before  there  is  any  question  of  leaving 
money." 

"  Don't  be  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  hotel- 
keeper,  much  mollified,  because  he  was  old  and  cor- 
pulent, and  red  in  the  face. 

He  felt  that  he  was  no  match  for  his  daughter,  and 
that  she  would  likely  have  her  own  way  in  the  long 
run,  but  he  irroaned  when  he  thought  of  Pietro  as 
proprietor  of  the  prosperous  pension.  Tina  insisted 
that  she  would  manage  the  hotel  on  the  strictest 
principles  of  her  ancestors,  and  that  she  would  keep 
Pietro  lounging  about  the  place  as  a  picturesque  or- 
nament to  attract  .sentimental  visitors,  who  seemed 
to  see  some  unaccountable  beauty  about  the  lake  and 
its  surroundings. 

Meanwhile  Landlord  Lenz  promptly  discharged 
Pietro,  and  cursed  the  day  and  hour  he  had  first  en- 
gaged him.     He  informed  the  picturesque  young  man 


OVER  THE  STELVIO  TASS. 


63 


of 


and 

long 
Iro  as 

,istcd 
lictcst 

keep 
Lie  or- 

:emed 

:e  and 

larged 
Irst  en- 
\cr  nian 


that  if  he  cauLdit  him  talking  to  his  daughter  he 
would  promptly  have  him  arrested  for  some  little 
thefts  from  travellers  of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  al- 
though the  landlord  had  condoned  them  at  the  time 
of  discovery,  probably  because  he  had  a  fellow-feeling 
in  the  matter,  and  saw  the  making  of  a  successful 
hotel  proprietor  in  the  Zweispanner  driver.  Pietro, 
on  his  part,  to  make  things  pleasant  all  round,  swore 
that  on  the  first  favourable  opportunity  he  would  run 
six  inches  of  k*  ife  into  the  extensive  cori)oration  of 
the  landlord,  hoping  in  that  length  of  steel  to  reach  a 
vital  spot.  The  ruddy  face  of  old  Lenz  paled  at  this 
threat,  for  the  Swiss  are  a  peace-loving  peo[)le,  and  he 
told  his  daughter  sadly  that  she  was  going  to  bring 
her  father's  grey  hairs  in  sorrow  to  the  grave  through 
the  medium  of  her  lover's  stiletto.  This  feat,  how- 
ever, would  have  been  difficult  to  perform,  as  the  girl 
flippantly  pointed  out  to  him,  for  the  old  man  was  as 
bald  as  the  smooth  round  top  of  the  Ortler;  neverthe- 
less, she  spoke  to  her  lover  about  it,  and  told  him 
frankly  that  if  there  was  any  knife  practice  in  that 
vicinity  he  need  never  come  to  see  her  again.  So  the 
young  man  with  the  curly  black  hair  and  the  face  of 
an  angel,  swallowed  his  resentment  against  his  desired 
father-in-law,  and  promised  to  behave  himself,  lie 
secured  a  position  as  driver  at  another  hotel,  for  the 
season  was  brisk,  and  he  met  Tina  when  he  could,  at 
the  bottom  of  the  garden  overlooking  the  placid  lake, 
he  on  one  side  of  the  stone  wall,  she  on  the  other. 

If  Landlord  Lenz  knew  of  these  meetings  he  did 
not  interfere ;  perhaps  he  was  frightened  of  Pictro's 
stiletto,  or  perhaps  he  feared  his  daughter's  longu    ; 


m  : 


^Lr ^ 


8'(! 


64 


REVENGE 


1  1  liiii ; 


I! 


iJi, 


1     ; 

1 

11 

nevertheless,  the  stars  in  their  courses  were  fightinj^ 
for  the  old  man.  Tina  was  naturally  of  a  changeable 
disposition,  and  now  that  all  opposition  had  vanished, 
she  began  to  lose  interest  in  Pietro.  He  could  talk 
of  little  else  than  horses,  and  interesting  as  such  con- 
versation undoubtedly  is,  it  palls  upon  a  girl  of  eigh- 
teen leaning  over  a  stone  wall  in  the  golden  evening 
light  that  hovers  above  Como.  There  are  other  sub- 
jects, but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there,  as  Pietro  did 
not  recognise  the  fact,  and,  unfortunately  for  him, 
there  happened  to  come  along  a  member  of  the  great 
army  of  the  unemployed  who  did. 

He  came  that  way  just  in  the  nick  of  time,  and 
proud  as  old  Lenz  was  of  his  pension  and  its  situation, 
it  was  not  the  unrivalled  prospect  (as  stated  in  the 
hotel  advertisements)  that  stopped  him.  It  was  the 
sight  of  a  most  lovely  girl  leaning  over  the  stone  wall 
at  the  foot  of  the  garden,  gazing  down  ,at  the  lake 
and  singing  softly  to  herself. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  said  young  Standish,  "  she  looks  as  if 
she  were  waiting  for  her  lover."  Which,  indeed,  was 
exactly  what  Tina  was  doing,  and  it  augured  ill  for  the 
missing  man  that  she  was  not  the  least  impatient  at 
his  delay. 

"  The  missing  lover  is  a  defect  in  the  landscape 
which  ought  to  be  supplied,"  murmured  young  Stand- 
ish as  he  unslung  his  knapsack,  which,  like  that  of 
the  late  John  Brown,  was  strapped  upon  his  back. 
He  entered  the  pension  and  inquired  the  rates.  Old 
Lenz  took  one  glance  at  the  knickerbockers,  and  at 
once  asked  twice  as  much  as  he  would  have  charged  a 
native.     Standish  agreed  to  the  terms  with  that  finan- 


OVER  THE  STELVIO   PASS. 


65 


if 


at 


[ape 
in  cl- 


ack. 


nan- 


cial  recklessness  characteristic  of  his  island,  and  the 
old  man  regretted  he  had  not  asked  a  third  more. 

**  But  never  mind,"  he  said  to  himself  as  the  newly 
arrived  guest  disappeared  to  his  room,  "  I  shall  make 
it  up  on  the  extras." 

With  deep  regret  it  must  be  here  admitted  that 
young  Standish  was  an  artist.  Artists  are  met  with 
so  often  in  fiction  that  it  is  a  matter  of  genuine  grief 
to  have  to  deal  with  one  in  a  narrative  of  fact,  but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  artists  flock  as  naturally  to 
the  lake  of  Como  as  stock-brokers  to  the  Exchange, 
and  in  setting  down  an  actual  statement  of  occurrences 
in  that  locality  the  unfortunate  writer  finds  himself 
confronted  with  artists  at  every  turn.  Standish  was 
an  artist  in  water-colours,  but  whether  that  is  a  miti- 
gation or  an  aggravation  of  "'  original  offense  the 
relater  knoweth  not.  He  .  :edily  took  to  painting 
Tina  amidst  various  combinations  of  lake  and  moun- 
tain scenery.  Tina  over  the  garden  wall  as  he  first 
saw  her  ;  Tina  under  an  arch  of  roses  ;  Tina  in  one  of 
the  clumsy  but  .turesque  lake  boats.  He  did  his 
work  very  well,  t^^o.  Old  Landlord  Lenz  had  the  ut- 
most contempt  for  this  occupation,  as  a  practical  man 
should,  but  he  was  astonished  one  day  when  a  passing 
traveller  offered  an  incredible  sum  for  one  of  the  pic- 
tures that  stood  on  the  hall  table.  Standish  was  not 
to  be  found,  but  the  old  man,  quite  willing  to  do  his 
guest  a  good  turn,  sold  the  picture.  The  young  man, 
instead  of  being  overjoyed  at  his  luck,  told  the  land- 
lord, with  the  calm  cheek  of  an  artist,  that  he  would 
overlook  the  matter  this  time,  but  it  must  not  occur 
again.     He  had  sold  the  picture,  added  Standish,  for 


M 


I  i\ 


66 


REVENGE! 


about  one-third  its  real  value.  There  was  something 
in  the  quiet  assurance  of  the  youth  that  more  than  his 
words  convinced  old  Lenz  of  the  truth  of  his  state- 
ment. Manner  has  much  to  do  witii  getting  a  well- 
told  lie  believed.  The  inn-keeper's  respect  for  the 
young  man  went  up  to  the  highest  attainable  point, 
and  he  had  seen  so  many  artists,  too.  l^ut  if  such 
prices  were  obtained  for  a  picture  dashed  off  in  i  few 
hours,  the  hotel  business  wasn't  in  it  as  a  money-mak- 
ing venture. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  it  was  a  ^reat  shock  to 
young  Standish  when  he  found  that  the  fairy-like 
Tina  was  the  daughter  of  the  gross  old  stupid  keeper 
of  the  inn.  It  would  have  been  so  nice  if  she  had 
happened  to  be  a  princess,  and  the  fact  would  have 
worked  in  well  with  the  marble  terrace  overlooking 
the  lake.  It  seemed  out  of  keeping  entirely  that  she 
should  be  any  relation  to  old  money-making  Lenz. 
Of  course  he  had  no  more  idea  of  marrying  the  girl 
than  he  had  of  buying  the  lake  of  Como  and  draining 
it ;  still,  it  was  such  a  pity  that  she  was  not  a  coun- 
tess at  least ;  there  were  so  many  of  them  in  Italy 
too,  surely  one  might  have  been  spared  for  that/tv/- 
sion  when  a  man  had  to  stay  eight  days  to  get  the 
lowest  rates.  Nevertheless,  Tina  did  make  a  pretty 
water-colour  sketch.  But  a  man  who  begins  sliding 
down  a  hill  such  as  there  is  around  Como,  never  can 
tell  exactly  where  he  is  going  to  bring  up.  He  may 
stop  halfway,  or  he  may  go  head  first  into  the  lake. 
If  it  were  to  be  set  down  here  that  within  a  certain 
space  of  time  Scandish  did  not  care  one  continental 
objurgation    whether  Tina  was  a  princess  or  a  char- 


OVER  THE  STELVIO   PASS. 


67 


Ir- 


woman,  the  statement  would  simply  not  be  believed, 
because  we  all  know  that  Englishmen  are  a  cold,  cal- 
culating race  of  men,  with  long  side  whiskers  and  a 
veil  round  their  hats  when  they  travel. 

It  is  serious  when  a  young  fellow  sketches  in  water- 
colours  a  charming  sylph-like  girl  in  various  entranc- 
ing attitudes;  it  is  disastrous  when  she  teaches  him  a 
soft  flowing  language  like  the  Italian  ;  but  it  is  abso- 
lute destruction  when  he  teaches  her  the  English 
tongue  and  watches  her  pretty  lips  strive  to  surround 
words  never  intended  for  the  vocal  resources  of  a  for- 
eigner. As  all  these  influences  were  brought  to  bear 
on  Walter  Standish,  what  chance  did  the  young  fel- 
low have  ?  Absolutely  as  little  as  has  the  un-roped 
man  who  misses  his  footincr  on  the  Matterhorn. 

And  Tina?  Poor  little  girl,  she  was  getting  paid 
back  with  a  vengeance  for  all  the  heart-aches  she  had 
caused — Italian,  German,  or  Swiss  variety.  She  fell 
helplessly  in  love  with  the  stalwart  Englishman,  and 
realised  that  she  had  never  known  before  what  the 
word  meant.  Bitterly  did  she  regret  the  sham  battles 
of  the  heart  that  she  had  hitherto  engaged  in.  Stand- 
ish took  it  so  entirely  for  granted  that  he  was  the 
first  to  touch  her  lips  (in  fact  she  admitted  as  much 
herself)  that  she  was  in  daily,  hourly  terror  lest  he 
should  learn  the  truth.  Meanwhile  Pietro  unburdened 
his  neglected  soul  of  strange  oily  imprecations  that 
might  have  sounded  to  the  uneducated  ear  of  Stand- 
ish like  mellifluous  benedictions,  notwithstanding  the 
progress  he  was  making  in  Italian  under  Tina's  tuition. 
However,  l^ietro  had  one  panacea  for  all  his  woes, 
and  that  he  proceeded  to  sharpen  carefully. 


ii|! 


'r 


'u 


1 


68 


REVENGE 


One  evening  Standish  was  floating  dreamily  through 
the  purple  haze,  thinking  about  Tina  of  course,  and 
wondering  how  her  piquant  archness  and  Southern 
beauty  would  strike  his  sober  people  at  home.  Tina 
was  very  quick  and  adaptable,  and  he  had  no  doubt 
she  could  act  to  perfection  any  part  he  assigned  to 
her,  so  he  was  in  doubt  whether  to  introduce  her  as  a 
remote  connexion  of  the  reigning  family  of  Italy,  or 
merely  as  a  countess  in  her  own  right.  It  would  be 
quite  easy  to  ennoble  the  long  line  of  hotel-keepers 
by  the  addition  of  **  di  "  or  "  de  "  or  some  such  syllable 
to  the  family  name.  He  must  look  up  the  right  com- 
bination of  letters  ;  he  knew  it  began  with  "  d."  Then 
the  pension  could  become  dimly  "  A  castle  on  the 
Italian  lakes,  you  know  " ;  in  fact,  he  would  close  up 
the  pension  as  soon  as  he  had  the  power,  or  change  it 
to  a  palace.  He  knew  that  most  of  the  castles  in  the 
Tyrol  and  many  of  the  palaces  of  Italy  had  become 
boarding-houses,  so  why  not  reverse  the  process?  He 
was  sure  that  certain  furnishing  houses  in  London 
could  do  it,  probably  on  the  hire  system.  He  knew 
a  fashionable  morning  paper  that  was  in  the  habit  of 
publishing  personal  items  at  so  much  a  line,  and  he 
thought  the  following  would  read  well  and  be  worth 
its  cost : — 

"  Mr.  Walter  Standish,  of  St.  John's  Wood,  and  his 
wife,  the  Comtessa  di  Lenza,  are  spending  the  sum- 
mer in  the  lady's  ancestral  home,  the  Palazzio  di 
Lenza,  on  the  lake  of  Como." 

This  bright  vision  pleased  him  for  a  \..  ment,  until 
he  thought  it  would  be  just  his  luck  for  some  ac- 
quaintance   to   happen    along    who   remembered  the 


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OVER  THE  STELVIO   PASS. 


69 


Palazzio  Lenza  when  it  was  the  Pension  Lenz — rates 
on  application.  He  wished  a  landslide  would  carry- 
buildings,  grounds,  and  everything  else  away  to  some 
unrecognisable  spot  a  few  hundred  feet  down  the 
mountain. 

Thus  it  was  that  young  Standish  floated  along  with 
his  head  in  the  clouds,  swinging  his  cane  in  the  air, 
when  suddenly  he  was  brought  sharply  down  to  earth 
again.  A  figure  darted  out  from  behind  a  tree,  an  in- 
stinct rather  than  reason  caused  the  artist  to  guard 
himself  by  throwing  up  his  left  arm.  He  caught  the 
knife  thrust  in  the  fleshy  part  of  it,  and  the  pain  was 
like  the  red-hot  sting  of  a  gigantic  wasp.  It  flashed 
through  his  brain  then  that  the  term  cold  steel  was  a 
misnomer.  The  next  moment  his  right  hand  had 
brought  down  the  heavy  knob  of  his  stout  stick  on 
the  curly  head  of  the  Italian,  and  Pietro  fell  like  a 
log  at  his  feet.  Standish  set  his  teeth,  and  £is  gently 
as  possible  drew  the  stiletto  from  his  arm,  wiping  its 
blade  on  the  clothes  of  the  prostrate  man.  He 
thought  it  better  to  soil  Pietro's  suit  than  his  own, 
which  was  newer  and  cleaner ;  besides,  he  held,  per- 
haps with  justice,  that  the  Italian  being  the  aggressor 
should  bear  any  disadvantages  arising  from  the  attack. 
Finally,  feeling  wet  at  the  elbow,  he  put  the  stiletto 
in  his  pocket  and  hurried  off  to  the  hotel. 

Tina  fell  back  against  the  wall  with  a  cry  at  the 
sight  of  the  blood.  She  would  have  fainted,  but 
something  told  her  that  she  would  be  well  advised  to 
keep  her  senses  about  her  at  that  moment. 

"  I  can't  imagine  why  he  should  attack  me,"  said 
Standish,  as  he   bared  his  arm  to  be   bandaged.     **  I 


« 


K;  n 


70 


REVENGE! 


never  saw  him  before,  and  I  have  had  no  quarrel  with 
any  one.  It  could  not  have  been  robbery,  for  I  was 
too  near  the  hotel.     I  cannot  understand  it." 

*'  Oh,"  began  old  Lenz,  "  it's  easy  enough  to  ac- 
count for  it.     He " 

Tina  darted  one  look  at  her  father  that  went  through 
him  as  the  blade  had  gone  through  the  outstretched 
arm.     His  mouth  closed  like  a  steel  trap. 

"  Please  go  for  Doctor  Zandorf,  papa,"  she  said 
sweetly,  and  the  old  man  went.  **  These  Italians,"  she 
continued  to  Standish,  "  are  always  quarrelling.  The 
villain  mistook  you  for  some  one  else  in  the  dusk." 

"Ah,  that's  it,  very  likely.  If  the  rascal  has  re- 
turned to  his  senses,  he  probably  regrets  having  waked 
up  the  wrong  passenger." 

When  the  authorities  searched  for  Pietro  they  found 
that  he  had  disappeared  as  absolutely  as  though 
Standish  had  knocked  him  through  into  Chi;. 
When  he  came  to  himself  and  rubbed  his  head,  he  saw 
the  blood  on  the  road,  and  he  knew  his  stroke  had 
gone  home  somewhere.  The  missing  knife  would  be 
evidence  against  him,  so  he  thought  it  safer  to  get  on 
the  Austrian  side  of  the  fence.  Thus  he  vanished 
over  the  Stelvio  pass,  and  found  horses  to  drive  on 
the  other  side. 

The  period  during  which  Standish  loafed  around 
that  lovely  garden  with  his  arm  in  a  sling,  waited 
upon  assiduously  and  tenderly  by  Tina,  will  always  be 
one  of  the  golden  remembrances  of  the  Englishman's 
life.  It  was  too  good  to  last  for  ever,  and  so  they 
were  married  when  it  came  to  an  end.  The  old  man 
would  still  have  preferred  a  Swiss  innkeeper  for  a  son- 


OVER  THE  STELVIO   PASS. 


7' 


in-law,  yet  the  Englishman  was  better  than  the  beg- 
garly Italian,  and  possibly  better  than  the  German  who 
had  occupied  a  place  in  Tina's  regards  before  the  son 
of  sunny  Italy  appeared  on  the  scene.  That  is  one 
trouble  in  the  continental  hotel  business ;  there  is 
such  a  bewildering  mixture  of  nationalities. 

Standish  thought  it  best  not  to  go  back  to  England 
at  once,  as  he  had  not  quite  settled  to  his  own  satis- 
faction how  the  pension  was  to  be  eliminated  from 
the  affair  and  transformed  into  a  palace.  He  knew  a 
lovely  and  elevated  castle  in  the  Tyrol  near  Meran 
where  they  accepted  passers-by  in  an  unobtrusive  sort 
of  way,  and  there,  he  resolved,  they  would  make  their 
plans.  So  the  old  man  gave  them  a  great  set-out  with 
which  to  go  over  the  pass,  privately  charging  the 
driver  to  endeavour  to  get  a  return  fare  from  Meran 
so  as  to,  partly  at  least,  cover  the  outlay.  The  car- 
riage was  drawn  by  five  horses,  one  on  each  side  of 
the  pole  and  three  in  front.  They  rested  the  first 
night  at  Bormeo,  and  started  early  next  day  for  over 
the  pass,  expecting  to  dine  at  Franzenshohe  within 
sight  of  the  snowy  Ortler. 

It  was  late  in  the  season  and  the  weather  was 
slightly  uncertain,  but  they  had  a  lovely  Italian  fore- 
noon for  going  up  the  wonderful,  zigzag  road  on  the 
western  side  of  the  pass.  At  the  top  there  was  a 
slight  sprinkling  of  snow,  and  clouds  hung  over  the 
lofty  Ortler  group  of  peaks.  As  they  got  lower  down 
a  steady  persistent  rain  set  in,  and  they  were  glad  to 
get  to  the  shelter  and  warmth  of  the  oblong  stone 
inn  at  Franzenshohe,  where  a  good  dinner  awaited 
them.     After  dinner  the  weather  cleared  somewhat, 


ft;*  1 


•'I 
.'■!■  '9 


i%\ 


I 


^■B 


!J 


'l\ 


72 


REVENGE! 


but  the  clouds  still  obscured  the  tops  of  the  mountains, 
and  the  roads  were  slippery.  Standish  regretted  this, 
for  he  wanted  to  show  his  bride  the  splendid  scenery 
of  the  next  five  miles  where  the  road  zigzags  down 
to  Trefoi,  each  elbow  of  the  dizzy  thoroughfare  over- 
hanging the  most  awful  precipices.  It  was  a  danger- 
ous bit  of  road,  and  even  with  only  two  horses,  re- 
quires a  cool  and  courageous  driver  with  a  steady 
head.  They  were  the  sole  guests  at  the  inn,  and  it 
needed  no  practised  eye  to  see  that  they  were  a  newly 
married  couple.  The  news  spread  abroad,  and  every 
lounger  about  the  place  watched  them  get  into  their 
carriage  and  drive  away,  one  hind  wheel  of  the  carriage 
sliding  on  its  skid,  and  all  breaks  on. 

At  the  first  turning  Standish  started,  for  the  car- 
riage went  around  it  with  dangerous  speed.  The  whip 
cracked,  too,  like  a  succession  of  pistol  shots,  which 
was  unusual  going  down  the  mountain.  He  said 
nothing  to  alarm  his  bride,  but  thought  that  the  driver 
had  taken  on  more  wine  than  was  good  for  him  at 
the  inn.  At  the  second  turn  the  wheel  actually  slid 
against  and  bumped  the  stone  post  that  was  the  sole 
guard  from  the  fearful  precipice  below.  The  sound 
and  shock  sent  a  cold  chill  up  the  back  of  Standish, 
for  he  knew  the  road  well  and  there  were  worse  places 
to  come.  His  arm  was  around  his  wife,  and  he  with- 
drew it  gently  so  as  not  to  alarm  her.  As  he  did  so 
she  looked  up  and  shrieked.  Following  her  glance  to 
the  front  window  of  their  closed  carriage,  where  the 
back  of  the  driver  is  usually  to  be  seen,  he  saw  pressed 
against  the  glass  the  distorted  face  of  a  demon.  The 
driver  was  kneeling  on  his  seat  instead  of  sitting  on  it, 


OVER  THE  STELVIO    PASS. 


n 


■y 

;n 

L^r- 

cr- 

rc- 

idy 

dit 

wly 

/cry 

l\cir 

iage 


and  was  pccMing  in  at  them,  the  reins  drawn  over  his 
shoulder,  and  his  back  to  the  horses.  It  seemed  to 
Standish  that  the  lii^ht  of  insanity  gleamed  from  his 
eyes,  but  Tina  saw  in  them  the  revenpi;eful  glare  of 
the  vcndctti ;  the  rage  of  the  disappoint  .'d  lover. 

"  My  God !  that's  not  our  driver,"  cried  Standish, 
who  did  not  recognise  the  man  who  had  once  en- 
deavoured to  kill  him.  He  sprang  up  and  tried  to 
open  the  front  window,  but  the  driver  yelled  out — 

"Open  that  window  if  you  dare,  and  I'll  drive  you 
over  here  before  you  get  halfway  down.  Sit  still, 
and  I  take  you  as  far  as  the  Weisse  Knott.  That's 
where  you  are  going  over.  There  you'll  have  a  drop 
of  a  mile  {iiin  iniglio)^ 

"Turn  to  your  horses,  you  scoundrel,"  shouted 
Standish,  "  or  I'll  break  every  bone  in  your  body! " 

"The  horses  know  the  way,  Signor  Inglese,  and  all 
our  bones  are  going  to  be  broken,  yours  and  your 
sweet  bride's  as  well  as  mine." 

The  driver  took  the  whip  and  fired  off  a  fusilade  of 
cracks  overhead,  beside  them,  and  under  them.  The 
horses  dashed  madly  down  the  slope,  almost  sending 
the  carriage  over  at  the  next  tirn.  Standish  looked 
at  his  wife.  She  had  apparently  fainted,  but  in  reality 
had  merely  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  horrible 
sight  of  Pietro's  face.  Standish  thrust  his  arm  out  of 
the  open  window,  unfastened  the  door,  and  at  the  risk 
of  his  neck  jumped  out.  Tina  shrieked  when  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  found  herself  alone.  Pietro  now 
pushed  in  the  frame  of  the  front  window  and  it 
dropped  out  of  sight,  leaving  him  face  to  face  with 
her,  with  no  glass  between  them. 


'Ma 


74 


REVENGE! 


"  Now  that  your  fine  Inglese  is  gone,  Tina,  we  are 
going  to  be  married  ;  you  promised  it,  you  know." 

"You  coward,"  she  hissed  ;  "  I'd  rather  die  his  wife 
than  live  yours." 

"  You're  plucky,  little  Tina,  you  always  were.  But 
he  left  you.  I  wouldn't  have  left  you.  I  won't  leave 
you.  We'll  be  married  at  the  chapel  of  the  Three 
Holy  Springs,  a  mile  below  the  Weisse  Knott ;  we'll 
fly  through  the  air  to  it,  Tina,  and  our  bed  will  be  at 
the  foot  of  the  Madatseh  Glacier.  We  will  go  over  to- 
gether near  where  the  man  threw  his  wife  down.  They 
have  marked  the  spot  with  a  marble  slab,  but  they  will 
put  a  bigger  one  for  us,  Tina,  for  there's  two  of  us." 

Tina  crouched  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage  and 
watched  the  face  of  the  Italian  as  if  she  were  fascinated. 
She  wanted  to  jump  out  as  her  husband  had  done, 
but  she  was  afraid  to  move,  feeling  certain  that  if  she 
attempted  to  escape  Pietro  would  pounce  down  upon 
her.  He  looked  like  some  wild  beast  crouching  for 
a  spring.  All  at  once  she  saw  something  drop  from 
the  sky  on  the  footboard  of  the  carriage.  Then  she 
heard  her  husband's  voice  ring  out — 

"  Here,  you  young  fool,  we've  had  enough  of  this 
nonsense." 

The  next  moment  Pietro  fell  to  the  road,  propelled 
by  :,  vigorous  kick.  His  position  lent  itself  to  treat- 
ment of  that  kind.  The  carriage  gave  a  bump  as  it 
passed  over  Pietro's  leg,  and  then  Tina  thinks  that 
she  fainted  in  earnest,  for  the  next  thing  she  knew 
the  carriage  was  standing  still,  and  Standish  was  rub- 
bing her  hands  and  calling  her  pleasant  names.  She 
smiled  wanly  at  him. 


OVER  THE  STELVIO  PASS. 


75 


this 

)eUed 
Itreat- 
as  it 
that 
knew 
^s  rub- 
She 


**  How  in  the  world  did  you  catch  up  to  the  carriage 
and  it  going  so  fast  ?  "  she  asked,  a  woman's  curiosity 
prompting  her  first  words. 

"  Oil,  the  villain  forgot  about  the  short  cuts.  As  I 
warned  him,  he  ought  to  have  paid  more  attention  to 
what  was  going  on  outside.  I'm  going  back  now  to 
have  a  talk  with  him.  He's  lying  on  the  road  at  the 
upper  end  of  this  slope." 

Tina  was  instantly  herself  again. 

"  No,  dearest,"  she  said  caressingly;  **  you  mustn't 
go  back.     He  probably  has  a  knife." 

'*  I'm  not  afraid." 

"  No,  but  I  am,  and  you  mustn't  leave  me." 

"  I  would  like  to  tie  him  up  in  a  hard  knot  and  take 
him  down  to  civilisation  bumping  behind  the  carriage 
as  luggage.  I  think  he's  the  fellow  who  knifed  me, 
and  I  want  to  find  out  what  his  game  is." 

Here  Tina  unfortunately  began  to  faint  again.  She 
asked  for  wine  in  a  far-off  voice,  and  Standish  at  once 
forgot  all  about  the  demon  driver.  He  mounted  the 
box  and  took  the  reins  himself.  He  got  wine  at  the 
little  cabin  of  the  Weisse  Knott,  a  mile  or  two  farther 
down.  Tina,  who  had  revived  amazingly,  probably 
on  account  of  the  motion  of  the  carriage,  shuddered  as 
she  looked  into  the  awful  gulf  and  saw  five  tiny  toy 
houses  in  the  gloom  nearly  a  mile  below. 

*'  That,"  said  Standish,  •*  is  the  chapel  of  the  Three 
Holy  Springs.  We  will  go  there  '  -night,  if  you  like, 
from  Trefoi." 

"  No,  no!  "  cried  Tina,  shivering.  **  Let  us  get  out 
of  the  mountains  at  once." 

At  Trefoi  they  found  their  own  driver  awaiting  them. 


"■'h 


ll    :l 


n    ■ 


r~^ 


--i!ir    -n — aaamsmt 


V 


76 


REVENGE! 


"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  here,  and  how  did 
you  get  here  ?  "  hotly  inquired  Standish. 

"  By  the  short  cuts,"  replied  the  bewildered  man. 
"  Pietro,  one  of  master's  old  drivers,  wanted — I  don't 
know  why — to  drive  you  as  far  as  Trefoi.  Where  is 
he,  sir?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Standish.  **We  saw  nothing 
of  him.  He  must  have  been  pushed  off  the  box  by 
the  madman.     Here,  jump  up  and  let  us  get  on." 

Tina  breathed  again.     That  crisis  was  over. 

They  live  very  happily  together,  for  Tina  is  a  very 
tactful  little  woman. 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


Prince  Lotarn(3  rose  slowly  to  his  feet,  casting 
one  malignant  glance  at  the  prisoner  before  him.  * 

"You  have  heard,"  he  said,  "what  is  alleged  against 
you.     Have  you  anything  to  say  in  your  defence?" 

The  captured  brigand  laughed. 

*'  The  time  for  talk  is  past,"  he  cried.  "  This  has 
been  a  fine  farce  of  a  fair  trial.  You  need  not  have 
wasted  so  much  time  over  what  you  call  evidence. 
I  knew  my  doom  when  I  fell  into  your  hands.  I  killed 
your  brother;  you  will  kill  me.  You  have  proven 
that  I  am  a  murderer  and  a  robber ;  I  could  prove 
the  same  of  you  if  you  were  bound  hand  and  foot  in 
my  camp  as  I  am  bound  in  your  castle.  It  is  useless 
for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  did  not  know  he  was  your 
brother,  else  it  would  not  have  happened,  for  the 
small  robber  always  respects  the  larger  and  more 
powerful  thief.  When  a  wolf  is  down,  the  other 
wolves  devour  him.  I  am  down,  and  you  will  have 
my  head  cut  off,  or  my  body  drawn  asunder  in  your 
courtyard,  whichever  pleases  your  Excellency  best. 
It  is  the  fortune  of  war,  and  I  do  not  complain. 
When  I  say  that  I  am  sorry  I  killed  your  brother,  I 
merely  mean  I  am  sorry  you  were  not  the  man  who 
stood   in    his   shoes  when    the  shot  was  fired.     You, 


1 


1 


78 


REVENGE! 


M 


.1 


having  more  men  than  I  had,  have  scattered  my 
followers  and  captured  me.  You  may  do  with  me 
what  you  please.  My  consolation  is  that  the  killing 
me  will  not  bring  to  life  the  man  who  is  shot,  there- 
fore conclude  the  farce  that  has  dragged  through  so 
many  weary  hours.  Pronounce  my  sentence.  I  am 
ready." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  after  th  brigand  had 
ceased  speaking.  Then  the  Prince  said,  in  low  tones, 
but  in  a  voice  that  made  itself  heard  in  every  part  of 
the  judgment-hall — 

"Your  sentence  is  that  on  the  fifteenth  of  January 
you  shall  be  taken  from  your  cell  at  four  o'clock,  con- 
ducted to  the  room  of  execution,  and  there  beheaded." 

The  Prince  hesitated  for  a  moment  as  he  concluded 
the  sentence,  and  seemed  about  to  add  something 
more,  but  apparently  he  remembered  that  a  report  of 
the  trial  was  to  go  before  the  King,  whose  representa- 
tive was  present,  and  he  was  particularly  desirous  that 
nothing  should  go  on  the  records  which  savoured  of 
old-time  malignity ;  for  it  was  well  known  that  his 
Majesty  had  a  particular  aversion  to  the  ancient  forms 
of  torture  that  had  obtained  heretofore  in  his  kingdom. 
Recollecting  this,  the  Prince  sat  down. 

The  brigand  laughed  again.  His  sentence  was 
evidently  not  so  gruesome  as  he  had  expected.  He 
was  a  man  who  had  lived  all  his  life  in  the  mountains, 
and  he  had  had  no  means  of  knowing  that  more  merci- 
ful measures  had  been  introduced  into  the  policy  of 
the  Government. 

"  I  will  keep  the  appointment,"  he  said  jauntily, 
"  unless  I  have  a  more  pressing  engagement." 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


79 


IS, 

:i- 
lof 


The  brigand  was  led  away  to  his  cell.  "  I  hope," 
said  the  Prince,  **  that  you  noted  the  defiant  attitude 
of  the  prisoner." 

"  I  have  not  failed  to  do  so,  your  Excellency,"  re- 
plied the  ambassador. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  Prince,  "  that  under  the  circum- 
stances, his  treatment  has  been  most  merciful." 

"  I  am  certain,  your  Excellency,"  said  the  ambassa- 
dor, "  that  his  Majesty  will  be  of  the  same  opinion. 
For  such  a  miscreant,  beheading  is  too  easy  a  death." 

The  Prince  was  pleased  to  know  that  the  opinion  of 
the  ambassador  coincided  so  entirely  with  his  own. 

The  brigand  Toza  was  taken  to  a  cell  in  the  north- 
ern tower,  where,  by  climbing  on  a  bench,  he  could 
get  a  view  of  the  profound  valley  at  the  mouth  of 
which  the  castle  was  situated.  He  well  knew  its  im- 
pregnable position,  commanding  as  it  did,  the  entrance 
to  the  valley.  He  knew  also  that  if  he  succeeded  in 
escaping  from  the  castle  he  was  hemmed  in  by  moun- 
tains practically  unscalable,  Vv'hile  the  mouth  of  the 
gorge  was  so  well  guarded  by  the  castle  that  it  was 
impossible  to  get  to  the  outer  world  through  that 
gateway.  Although  he  knew  the  mountains  well,  he 
realised  that,  with  his  band  scattered,  many  killed, 
and  the  others  fugitives,  he  would  have  a  better  chance 
of  starving  to  death  in  the  valley  than  of  escaping  out 
of  it.  He  sat  on  the  bench  and  thought  over  the 
situation.  Why  had  the  Prince  been  so  merciful  ? 
He  had  expected  torture,  whereas  he  was  to  meet  the 
easiest  death  that  a  man  could  die.  He  felt  satisfied 
there  was  something  in  this  that  he  could  not  under- 
stand.    Perhaps  they  intended  to  starve  him  to  death. 


I 

I 


80 


REVENGE! 


ill ! 


M:l!  i 


now  that  the  appccvrance  of  a  fair  trial  was  over. 
Things  could  be  done  in  the  dungeon  of  a  castle  that 
the  outside  world  knew  nothing  of.  His  fears  of 
starvation  were  speedily  put  to  an  end  by  the  appear- 
ance of  his  gaoler  with  a  better  meal  than  he  had  had 
for  some  time  ;  for  during  the  last  week  he  had  wan- 
dered a  fugitive  in  the  mountains  until  captured  by 
the  Prince's  men,  who  evidently  had  orders  to  bring 
him  in  alive.  Why  then  were  they  so  anxious  not  to 
kill  him  in  a  fair  fight  if  he  were  now  to  be  merely 
beheaded  ? 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Toza  of  his  gaoler. 

"  I  am  called  Paulo,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  am  to  be  beheaded  on  the 
fifteenth  of  the  month  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  so,"  answered  the  man. 

**  And  do  you  attend  me  until  that  time  ?  " 

"  I  attend  you  while  I  am  ordered  to  do  so.  If  you 
talk  much  I  may  be  replaced." 

"  That,  then,  is  a  tip  for  silence,  good  Paulo,"  said 
the  brigand.  "  I  always  treat  well  those  who  serve  me 
well ;  1  regret,  therefore,  that  I  have  no  money  with 
me,  and  so  cannot  recompense  you  for  good  service." 

"That  is  not  necessary,"  answered  Paulo.  "I 
receive  my  recompense  from  the  steward." 

"  Ah,  but  the  recompense  of  the  steward  and  the 
recompense  of  a  brigand  chief  are  two  very  different 
things.  Are  there  so  many  pickings  in  your  position 
that  you  are  rich,  Paulo?  " 

•*  No  ;  I  am  a  poor  man." 

"Well,  under  certain  circums*"ances,  I  could  make 
you  rich." 


■^ 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


8i 


Paulo's  eyes  glistened,  but  he  made  no  direct  reply. 
Finally  he  said,  in  a  frightened  whisper,  "  1  have 
tarried  too  long,  I  am  watched.  By-and-by  the  vigi- 
lance will  be  relaxed,  and  then  we  may  perhaps  talk  of 
riches." 

With  that  the  gaoler  took  his  departure.  The 
brigand  laughed  softly  to  himself.  "  Evidently,"  he 
said,  '*  Paulo  is  not  above  the  reach  of  a  bribe.  We 
will  have  further  talk  on  the  subject  when  the  watch- 
fulness is  relaxed." 

And  so  it  grew  to  be  a  question  of  which  should 
trust  the  other.  The  brigand  asserted  that  hidden  in 
the  mountains  he  had  gold  and  jewels,  and  these  he 
would  give  to  Paulo  if  he  could  contrive  his  escape 
from  the  castle. 

"Once  free  of  the  castle,  I  can  soon  make  my  way 
out  of  the  valley,"  said  the  brigand. 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  answered  Paulo.  "  The 
castle  is  well  guarded,  and  when  it  is  discovered  that 
you  have  escaped,  the  alarm-bell  will  be  rung,  and 
after  that  not  a  mouse  can  leave  the  valley  without 
the  soldiers  knowing  it." 

The  brigand  pondered  on  the  situation  for  some 
time,  and  at  last  said,  "  I  know  the  mountains  well." 

**  Yes  ;  "  said  Paulo,  "  but  you  are  one  man,  and  the 
soldiers  of  the  Prince  are  many.  Perhaps,"  he  added, 
**  if  it  were  made  worth  my  while,  I  could  show  you 
that  I  know  the  mountains  even  better  than  you  do." 

'•What  do  you  mean?"  asked  the  brigand,  in  an 
excited  whisper. 

"  Do  you  know  the  tunnel  ?  "  inquired  Paulo,  with 
an  anxious  glance  towards  the  door. 


?      ; 


t  ■-. 

•t      fr 
I 


■■-ri- 


I 


82 


REVENGE! 


I 


"  What  tunnel  ?     I  never  heard  of  any." 

"  But  it  exists,  nevertheless ;  a  tunnel  through  the 
mountains  to  the  world  outside." 

"A  tunnel  through  the  mountains?  Nonsense!" 
cried  the  brigand.  "  I  should  have  known  of  it  if  one 
existed.  The  work  would  be  too  great  to  accom- 
plish." 

"  It  was  made  long  before  your  day,  or  mine  either. 
If  the  castle  had  fallen,  then  those  who  were  inside 
could  escape  through  the  tunnel.  Few  know  of  the 
entrance ;  it  is  near  the  waterfall  up  the  valley,  and  is 
covered  with  brushwood.  What  will  you  give  me  to 
place  you  at  the  entrance  of  that  tunnel  ?  " 

The  brigand  looked  at  Paulo  sternly  for  a  few 
moments,  then  he  answered  slowly,  *'  Everything  I 
possess." 

"  And  how  much  is  that  ?  "  asked  Paulo. 

"  It  is  more  than  you  will  ever  earn  by  serving  the 

11  •        »» 
rince. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  it  is  before  I  help  you  to 
escape  from  the  castle  and  lead  you  to  the  tunnel.'*  " 

*'  Yes,"  said  Toza. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  now  ?  " 

'*  No ;  bring  me  a  paper  to-morrow,  and  I  will  draw 
a  plan  showing  you  how  to  get  it." 

When  his  gaoler  appeared,  the  day  after  Toza  had 
given  the  plan,  the  brigand  asked  eagerly,  '*  Did  you 
find  the  treasure?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Paulo  quietly. 

**  And  will  you  keep  your  word  ? — will  you  get  me 
out  of  the  castle?" 

"  I  will  get  you  out  of  the  castle  and  lead  you  to  the 


>u 


ht: 


I  will.  UKAu    A  I'l.AN." — Page  82. 


"Xi/ 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


83 


entrance  of  the  tunnel,  but  after  that  you  must  look 
to  yourself." 

*'  Certainly,"  said  Toza,  "  that  was  the  bargain. 
Once  out  of  this  accursed  valley,  I  can  defy  all  the 
princes  in  Christendom.     Have  you  a  rope  ?  " 

"  We  shall  need  none,"  said  the  gaoler.  **  I  will 
come  for  you  at  midnight,  and  take  you  out  of  the 
castle  by  the  secret  passage  ;  then  your  escape  will 
not  be  noticed  until  morning." 

At  midnight  his  gaoler  came  and  Ijd  Toza  through 
many  a  tortuous  passage,  the  two  men  pausing  now 
and  then,  holding  their  breaths  anxiously  as  they 
came  to  an  open  court  through  which  a  guard  paced. 
At  last  they  were  outside  of  the  castle  at  one  hour 
past  midnight. 

The  brigand  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief  when  he 
was  once  again  out  in  the  free  air. 

"  Where  is  your  tunnel  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a  somewhat 
distrustful  whisper  of  his  guide. 

*'  Hush  !  "  was  the  low  answer.  "  It  is  only  a  short 
distance  from  the  castle,  but  every  inch  is  guarded, 
and  we  cannot  go  direct ;  we  must  make  for  the  other 
side  of  the  valley  and  come  to  it  from  the  north." 

**  What !  "  cried  Toza  in  amazement,  "  traverse  the 
whole  valley  for  a  tunnel  a  few  yards  away  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  only  safe  plan,"  said  Paulo.  **  If  you  wish 
to  go  by  the  direct  way,  I  must  leave  you  to  your 
ov/n  devices." 

•*  I  am  in  your  hands,"  said  the  brigand  with  a  sigh. 
*'  Take  me  where  you  will,  so  long  as  you  lead  me  to 
the  entrance  of  the  tunnel." 

They  pa°^d   down  and  down  around   the   heights 


!'■ 


:»■ 


•t        f  1 


~ 


(  1 


84 


REVENGE! 


V    i! 


on  which  the  castle  stood,  and  crossed  the  purHn^ 
little  river  by  means  of  stepping-stones.  Once  Toza 
fell  into  the  water,  but  was  rescued  by  his  guide. 
There  was  still  no  alarm  from  the  castle  as  daylight 
began  to  break.  As  it  grew  more  light  they  both 
crawled  into  a  cave  which  had  a  low  opening  difficult 
to  find,  and  there  Paulo  gave  the  brigand  his  break- 
fast, which  he  took  from  a  little  bag  slung  by  a  strap 
across  his  shoulder. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  for  food  if  we  are  to  be 
days  between  here  and  the  tunnel?"  asked  Toza. 

"  Oh,  I  have  arranged  for  that,  and  a  quantity  of 
food  has  been  placed  where  we  are  most  likely  to 
want  it.     I  will  get  it  while  you  sleep." 

"  But  if  you  are  captured,  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked 
Toza.  "  Can  you  not  tell  me  now  how  to  find  the 
tunnel,  as  I  told  you  how  to  find  the  treasure?" 

Paulo  pondered  over  this  for  a  moment,  and  then 
said,  *'  Yes ;  I  think  it  would  be  the  safer  way.  You 
must  follow  the  stream  until  you  reach  the  place 
where  the  torrent  from  the  east  joins  it.  Among  the 
hills  there  is  a  waterfall,  and  halfway  up  the  precipice 
on  a  shelf  of  rock  there  are  sticks  and  Sushes.  Clear 
them  away,  and  you  will  find  the  entrance  to  the 
tunnel.  Go  through  the  tunnel  until  you  come  to 
a  door,  which  is  bolted  on  this  side.  When  you 
have  passed  through,  you  will  see  the  end  of  your 
journey." 

Shortly  after  daybreak  the  big  bell  of  the  castle 
began  to  toll,  and  before  noon  the  soldiers  were 
beating  the  bushes  all  around  them.  They  were  so 
cJose  that  the  two  men  could  hear  their  voices  from 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


8S 


itle 

rere 

so 

rom 


their  hidin<5-place,  where  they  lay  in  their  wet  clothes, 
breathlessly  expecting  ewQry  moment  to  be  discov- 
ered. 

The  conversation  of  two  soldiers,  who  were  nearest 
them,  nearly  caused  the  hearts  of  the  hiding  listeners 
to  stop  beating. 

"  Is  there  not  a  cave  near  here?  "  asked  one.     "  Let 

us  search  for  it  !  " 

'•  Nonsense,"  said  the  other.  "  I  tell  you  that  they 
could  not  have  come  this  far  already." 

"  Why  could  they  not  have  escaped  when  the  guard 
changed  at  midnight?"  insisted  the  first  speaker. 

*'  Because  Paulo  was  seen  crossing  the  courtyard  at 
midnight,  and  they  could  have  had  no  other  chance 
of  getting  away  until  just  before  daybreak." 

This  answer  seemed  to  satisfy  his  comrade,  and  the 
search  was  given  up  just  as  they  were  about  to  come 
upon  the  fugitives.  It  was  a  narrow  escape,  and, 
brave  as  the  robber  was,  he  looked  pale,  while  Paulo 
was  in  a  state  of  collapse. 

Many  times  during  the  nights  and  days  that  fol- 
lowed, the  brigand  and  his  guide  almost  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  minions  of  the  Prince.  Exposure,  priva- 
tion, semi-starvation,  and,  worse  than  all,  the  alternate 
wrenchings  of  hope  and  fear,  began  to  tell  upon  the 
stalwart  frame  of  the  brigand.  Some  days  and  nights 
of  cold  winter  rain  added  to  their  misery.  They  dare 
not  seek  shelter,  for  every  habitable  place  was  watched. 

When  daylight  overtook  them  on  their  last  ni[^ht's 
crawl  through  the  valley,  they  were  within  a  short 
distance  of  the  waterfall,  whose  low  roar  now  came 
soothingly  down  to  them. 


ii 


hf 


a6 


REVENGE! 


II 


'  t 


"Never  mind  the  daylight,"  said  Toza ;  "let  us 
push  on  and  reach  the  tunnel." 

*'  1  can  go  no  farther,"  moaned  Paulo ;  *'  I  am 
exhausted." 

"  Nonsense,"  cried  Toza  ;  '*  it  is  but  a  short  dis< 
tance." 

"The  distance  is  greater  than  you  think;  besides, 
we  are  in  full  view  of  the  castle.  Would  you  risk 
everything  now  that  the  game  is  nearly  won  ?  You 
must  not  forget  that  the  stake  is  your  head ;  and 
remember  what  day  this  is." 

"  What  day  is  it  ? "  asked  the  brigand,  turning  on 
his  guide. 

'*  It  is  the  fifteenth  of  January,  the  day  on  which 
you  were  to  be  executed." 

Toza  caught  his  breath  sharply.  Danger  and  want 
had  made  a  coward  of  him.  and  lie  shuddered  now, 
which  he  had  not  done  when  he  was  on  his  trial  and 
condemned  to  death. 

"  How  do  vou  know  it  is  the  fifteenth?  "  he  asked 
at  last. 

Paulo  held  up  his  stick,  notched  after  the  method 
of  Robinson  Crusoe. 

*'  I  am  not  so  strong  as  you  are,  and  if  you  will  let 
me  rest  here  until  the  afternoon,  I  am  willing  to  make 
a  last  effort,  and  try  to  reach  the  entrance  of  the 
tunnel." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Toza  shortly. 

As  they  lay  there  that  forenoon  neither  could 
sleep.  The  noise  of  the  waterfall  was  music  to  the 
ears  of  both  ;  their  long  toilsome  journey  was  almost 
over. 


let 


:he 


lid 
the 
lost 


iiK  inuiiw  AsiDic   iiusiii;s    iiKAMiii.i;s  and  logs. — Page  87. 


m  1 1 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


87 


"  What  did  you  do  with  the  gold  that  you  found  in 
the  mountains?"  asked  Toza  suddenly. 

Paulo  was  taken  unawares,  and  answered,  without 
thinking,  **  I  left  it  where  it  was.     I  will  get  it  after." 

The  brigand  said  nothing,  but  that  remark  con- 
demned Paulo  to  death.  Toza  resolved  to  murder 
him  as  soon  as  they  were  well  out  of  the  tunnel,  and 
get  the  gold  himseli. 

They  left  their  hiding-place  shortly  before  twelve 
o'clock,  but  their  progress  was  so  slow,  crawling,  as 
they  had  to  do,  up  the  steep  side  of  the  mountain, 
under  cover  of  bushes  and  trees,  that  it  was  well  after 
three  when  they  came  to  the  waterfall,  which  they 
crossed,  as  best  they  could,  on  stones  and  logs. 

"  There,"  said  Toza,  shaking  himself,  "  that  is  our 
last  wetting.     Now  for  the  tunnel !  " 

The  rocky  sides  of  the  waterfall  hid  them  from  view 
of  the  castle,  but  Paulo  called  the  brigand's  attention 
to  the  fact  that  they  could  be  easily  seen  from  the 
otiier  side  of  the  valley. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  now,"  said  Toza;  '*  lead  the  way 
as  quickly  as  you  can  to  the  uiouth  of  the  cavern." 

Paulo  scrambled  on  until  he  reached  a  shelf  about 
halfway  up  the  cataract ;  he  threw  aside  bushes, 
brambles,  and  logs,  speedily  disclosing  a  hole  large 
enough  to  admit  a  man. 

"  You  go  first,"  said  Paulo,  standing  aside. 

**  No,"  answered  Toza;  "you  know  the  way,  and 
must  go  first.  You  cannot  think  that  I  wish  to  harm 
you — I  am  completely  unarmed. 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  Paulo,  "  1  shall  not  go  first. 
I  did  not  like  the  way  you  Ic  oked  at  me  when  I  told 


1:  .< 


88 


REVENGE! 


H' 


you  the  gold  was  still  in  the  hills.  I  admit  that  I 
distrust  you." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  laughed  Toza,  "  it  doesn't  really 
matter."  And  he  crawled  into  the  hole  in  the  rock, 
Paulo  following  him. 

Before  long  the  tunnel  enlarged  so  that  a  man 
could  stand  upright. 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Paulo  ;  "  there  is  the  door  near  here." 

•'  Yes,"  said  the  robber,  "  I  remember  that  you 
spoke  of  a  door,"  addii.g,  however,  "What  is  it  for, 
and  why  is  it  locked  ?  " 

**  It  is  bolted  on  this  side,"  answered  Paulo,  "  and 
we  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  opening  it." 

"What  is  it  for?"  repeated  the  brigand. 

"  It  is  to  prevent  the  current  of  air  running  through 
the  tunnel  and  blowing  away  the  obstruction  at  this 
end,"  said  the  guide. 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Toza,  as  he  felt  down  its  edge  for 
the  bolt. 

The  bolt  drew  back  easily,  and  the  door  opened. 
The  next  instant  the  brigand  was  pushed  rudely  into 
a  room,  and  he  heard  the  bolt  thrust  back  into  its 
place  almost  simultaneously  with  the  noise  of  the 
closing  door.  For  a  moment  his  eyes  were  dazzled 
by  the  light.  He  was  in  an  apartment  blazing  with 
torches  held  by  a  dozen  men  standing  about. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  was  a  block  covered  with 
black  cloth,  and  beside  it  stood  a  masked  executioner 
resting  the  corner  of  a  gleaming  axe  on  the  black 
draped  block,  with  his  hands  crossed  over  the  end  of 
the  axe's  handle. 

The  Prince  stood  there  surrounded  by  his  ministers. 


THE  HOUR  AND  THE  MAN. 


89 


ith 


ith 

her 

ick 

of 


Above  his  head  was   a  clock,  with  the  minute  hand 
pointed  to  the  hour  of  four. 

"You   are  just  in   time!"  said  the  Prince  grimly; 
"  we  are  waiting  for  you  !  " 


'Hi 
ill 


i 


jrs. 


''AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME.' 


Old  Mr.  Saunders  went  home  with  bowed  head 
and  angry  brow.  He  had  not  known  that  Dick  was 
in  the  habit  of  coming  in  late,  but  he  had  now  no 
doubt  of  the  fact.  He  himself  v^ent  to  bed  early  and 
slept  soundly,  as  a  man  with  a  good  conscience  is 
entitled  to  do.  But  the  boy's  mother  must  have 
known  the  hours  he  kept,  yet  she  had  said  nothing ; 
this  made  the  matter  all  the  blacker.  The  father  felt 
that  mother  and  son  were  leagued  against  him.  He 
had  been  too  lenient ;  now  he  would  go  to  the  root  of 
things.  The  young  man  would  speedily  change  his 
ways  or  take  the  consequences.  There  would  be  no 
half  measures. 

Poor  old  Mrs.  Saunders  saw,  the  moment  her  hus- 
band came  in,  that  there  was  a  storm  brewing,  and  a 
wild  fear  arose  in  her  heart  that  her  boy  was  the 
cause.  The  first  words  of  the  old  man  settled  the 
question. 

"What  time  did  Richard  come  in  last  night  ?" 
"I — I    don't   know,"    she   hesitated.      "Shuffling" 
her  husband  always  called  it.     She  had  been  a  buffer 
between  father  and  son  since  Dick  was  a  child. 
"Why  don't  you  know?     Who  let  him  in?" 
She   sighed.     The   secret   had   long  weighed  upon 


I 


'*AND  TiiE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."    91 


!0 


is- 


he 


ler 


)n 


her,  and  she  felt  it  would  come  out  at  some  hapless 
moment. 

"  He  has  ?  key,"  she  said  at  last. 

The  old  man  glared  in  speechless  amazement.  In 
his  angriest  mood  he  had  neve,  suspected  anything 
so  bad  as  this. 

"  A  key !     How  long  has  he  had  a  key  ?  " 

"  About  six  months.  He  did  not  want  to  disturb 
us. 

"  He  is  very  thoughtful !  Where  does  he  spend  his 
nights  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  know.  He  told  me  he  belongs  to  a  club, 
where  he  takes  some  kind  of  exercise." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  he  exercised  with  cards?  Did  he 
say  it  was  a  gambling  club  ?  " 

*'  I  don't  believe  it  is ;  I  am  sure  Dick  doesn't  gam- 
ble.    Dick  is  a  good  boy,  father." 

"  A  precious  lot  you  know  about  it,  evidently  Do 
you  think  his  employer,  banker  Hammond,  has  any 
idea  his  clerk  belongs  to  a  gambling  club?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  Is  there  anything  wrong? 
Has  any  one  been  speaking  to  you  about  Dick?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  not  to  his  credit." 

"  Oh  dear !  "  cried  the  mother  in  anguish.  **  Was  it 
Mr.  Hammond?" 

*'  I  have  never  spoken  to  Hammond  in  my  life," 
said  the  old  man,  relenting  a  little  when  he  saw  how 
troubled  his  wife  was.  "  No,  I  propose  to  stop  this 
club  business  before  it  gets  to  the  banker's  ears  that 
one  of  his  clerks  is  a  nightly  attendant  there.  You 
will  see  Richard  when  he  comes  home  this  cvLMiing; 
tell  him  I  wish  to  have  a  word  or  two  with  him  to- 


92 


REVENGE! 


:  : 


I 


night.  He  is  to  wait  for  me  here.  I  will  be  in  shortly 
after  he  has  had  his  supper." 

"  You  will  not  be  harsh  with  him,  father.  Remem- 
ber, he  is  a  young  man  now,  so  please  advise  and  do 
not  threaten.     Angry  words  can  do  no  good." 

"  I  will  do  my  duty,"  said  the  old  man,  uncom- 
promisingly. 

Gentle  Mrs.  Saunders  sighed — for  she  well  knew 
the  phrase  about  duty.  It  was  a  sure  prelude  to 
domestic  trouble.  When  the  old  gentleman  under- 
took to  do  his  duty,  he  nailed  his  flag  to  the  mast. 

"  See  that  he  waits  for  me  to-night,"  was  the  part- 
ing shot  as  the  old  man  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

Mrs.  Saunders  had  had  her  share  of  trouble  in  this 
world,  as  every  woman  must  who  lives  with  a  can- 
tankerous man.  When  she  could  save  her  son  a  harsh 
word,  or  even  a  blow,  she  was  content  to  take  either 
uncomplainingly.  The  old  man's  severity  had  put 
him  out  of  touch  with  his  son.  Dick  sullenly  resented 
his  boyhood  of  continual  fear.  During  recent  years, 
when  fear  had  gradually  diminished  and  finally  dis- 
appeared, he  was  somewhat  troubled  to  find  that  the 
natural  affection,  which  a  son  should  have  for  his 
father,  had  vanished  with  it.  He  had,  on  several 
occasiors,  made  half-hearted  attempts  at  a  better  un- 
derstanding, but  these  attempts  had  unfortunately 
fallen  on  inopportune  moments,  when  the  old  man 
was  not  particularly  gracious  toward  the  world  in 
general,  and  latterly  there  had  been  silence  between 
the  two.  The  young  man  avoided  his  father  as  much 
as  possible  ;  he  would  not  have  remained  at  home, 
had   it   not   been   for  his   mother.     Her  steady,  un- 


"AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF    'HE  GAME."   93 


\- 

y 

n 
n 
n 


wtiverlng  affection  for  him,  her  belief  in  him,  and  the 
remembrance  of  how  she  had  stood  up  for  him, 
especially  when  he  was  in  the  wrong,  had  bound  her 
to  him  with  bonds  soft  as  silk  and  strong  as  steel. 
He  often  felt  it  would  be  a  pleasure  to  go  wrong, 
merely  to  refute  his  father's  ideas  regarding  the  way 
a  child  should  be  brought  up.  Yet  Dick  had  a  sort  of 
admiration  for  the  old  man,  whose  many  good  qualities 
were  somewhat  overshadowed  by  his  brutal  temper. 

When  Richard  came  home  that  evening  he  had  his 
supper  alone,  as  was  usual  with  him.  Mrs.  Saunders 
drew  her  chair  near  the  table,  and  wliile  the  meal  went 
on  she  talked  of  many  things,  but  avoided  the  subject 
uppermost  in  her  mind,  which  she  postponed  until 
the  last  moment.  Perhaps  after  all  she  would  not 
need  to  ask  him  to  stay ;  he  might  remain  of  his  own 
accord.  She  watched  him  narrowly  as  she  talked,  and 
saw  with  alarm  that  there  was  anxiety  in  his  face. 
Some  care  was  worrying  him,  and  she  yearned  to 
have  him  confide  his  trouble  to  her.  And  yet  she 
talked  and  talked  of  other  things.  She  noticed  that 
he  made  but  a  poor  pretence  of  eating,  and  that  he 
allowed  her  to  talk  while  he  made  few  replies,  and 
those  absent-mindedly.  At  last  he  pushed  back  his 
chair  with  a  laugh  that  sounded  forced. 

"Well,  mother,"  he  said,  "what  is  it?  Is  there  a 
row  on,  or  is  it  merely  looming  in  the  horizon  ?  Has 
the  Lord  of  Creation " 

"  Hush,  Dick,  you  mustn't  talk  in  that  way.  There 
is  nothing  much  the  matter,  I  hope  ?  I  want  to  speak 
with  you  about  your  club." 

Dick  looked  sharply  at  his  mother  for  a  moment, 


ill 
m 


94 


REVENGE! 


11  '^-  ^' 

4:    ti 


■m 


then   he   said :     *'  Well,   what   does    father    want   to 
know  about  the  club  ?     Does  he  wish  to  join  r  " 

•'  I  didn't  say  your  father " 

*'  No,  you  didn't  say  it ;  but,  my  dear  mother,  you 
are  as  transparent  as  glass.  I  can  see  right  through 
you  and  away  beyond.  Now,  somebody  has  been 
talking  to  father  about  the  club,  and  he  is  on  the  war- 
path.    Well,  what  does  he  want  to  know  ?" 

"  He  said  it  was  a  gambling  club." 

"  Right  for  once." 

"Oh,  Dick,  is  it?" 

"  Certainly  it  is.  Most  clubs  are  gambling  clubs 
and  drinking  clubs.  I  don't  suppose  the  True  Blues 
gamble  more  than  others,  but  I'll  bet  they  don't 
gamble  any  less." 

"  Oh,  Dick,  Dick,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that.  And, 
Dick,  my  darling  boy — do  ycui " 

**  Do  I  gamble,  mother*'  No,  I  don't.  1  know 
you'll  believe  me,  though  the  old  man  won't.  But 
it's  true,  nevertheless.  I  can't  afford  it,  for  it  takes 
money  to  gamble,  and  I'm  not  as  rich  as  old  Hammond 
yet." 

"  Oh  yes,  Dick  dear,  and  that  reminds  me.  Another 
thing  your  father  feared  was  that  Mr.  Hammond 
might  come  to  know  you  were  a  member  of  the  club. 
It  might  hurt  your  prospects  in  the  bank,"  she  added, 
not  wishing  to  frighten  the  boy  with  tlie  threat  of 
the  dismissal  she  felt  sure  would  follow  tlie  revelation. 

Dick  threw  back  his  head  and  roared.  For  the 
first  time  that  evening  the  lines  of  care  left  his  brow. 
Then  seeing  his  mother's  look  of  incomprehension,  he 
sobered  down,  repressing  his  mirth  with  some  difficulty. 


"AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAiME."    95 

'*  Mother,  "  he  said  at  last,  "  things  have  changed 
since  father  was  a  boy ;  I'm  afraid  he  hardly  appre- 
ciates how  much.  The  old  terrifying  relations  be- 
tween employer  and  employee  do  not  exist  now — at 
least,  that  is  my  experience." 

"  Still  if  Mr.  Hammond  came  to  know  that  you 
spent  your  evenings  at " 

'*  Mother,  listen  to  me  a  moment.  Mr.  Julius 
Hammond  proposed  me  for  membership  in  the  club — 
my  employer!  I  should  never  have  thought  of 
joining  if  it  hadn't  been  for  him.  You  remember 
my  last  raise  in  salary  ?  You  thought  it  was  for 
merit,  of  course,  and  father  thought  it  was  luck. 
Well,  it  was  neither — or  both,  perhaps.  Now,  this  is 
confidential  and  to  yourself  only.  I  wouldn't  tell  it 
to  any  one  else.  Hammond  called  me  into  his  pri- 
vate office  one  afternoon  when  the  bank  was  closed, 
and  said,  '  Saunders,  I  want  you  to  join  the  Athletic 
Club;  I'll  propose  you.'  I  was  amazed  and  told  him 
I  couldn't  afford  it.  *  Yes,  you  can,'  he  answered. 
'  I'm  going  to  raise  your  salary  double  the  amount  of 
entrance  fee  and  annual.  If  you  don't  join  I'll  cut  it 
down.'  So  I  joined.  I  think  I  should  have  been  a 
fool  if  I  hadn't." 

•'  Dick,  I  never  heard  of  such  a  thing!  What  in  the 
world  did  he  want  you  to  join  for  ?  " 

"  Well,  mother,"  said  Dick,  looking  at  his  watch, 
**  that's  a  long  story.  I'll  tell  it  to  you  some  other 
evening.     I  haven't  time  to-night.     I  must  be  off." 

*'  Oh,  Dick,'don't  go  to-night.  Please  stay  at  home, 
for  my  sake." 

Dick  smoothed  his  mother's  grey  hair  and  kissed  her 


ii'> 


9« 


REVENGE! 


Il> 


tisi  I 


hi  I' 


on  the  forehead.  Then  he  said :  "  Won't  to-morrow 
night  do  as  well,  mother  ?  I  can't  stay  to-night.  I 
have  an  appointment  at  the  club. 

*'  Telegraph  to  them  and  put  it  off.  Stay  for  my 
sake  to-night,  Dick.     1  never  asked  you  before." 

The  look  of  anxiety  came  into  his  face  again. 

**  Mother,  it  is  impossible,  really  it  is.  Please  don't 
ask  me  again.  Anyhow,  I  know  it  is  father  who  wants 
me  to  stay,  not  you.  J  presume  he's  on  the  duty 
tack.  I  think  what  he  has  to  say  will  keep  till  to-mor- 
row night.  If  he  must  work  off  some  of  his  senti- 
ments on  gambling,  let  him  place  his  efforts  where 
they  are  needed — let  him  tackle  Jule  Hammond,  but 
not  during  business  hours." 

"  You  surely  don't  mean  to  say  that  a  respected 
business  man — a  banker  like  Mr.  Hammond — gam- 
bles?" 

"  Don't  I  ?  Why,  Hammond's  a  plunger  from  Plun- 
gerville,  if  you  know  what  that  means.  From  nine  to 
three  he  is  the  strictest  and  best  business  man  in  the 
city.  If  you  spoke  to  him  then  of  the  True  Blue  Ath- 
letic Club  he  wouldn't  know  what  you  were  talking 
about.  But  after  three  o'clock  he'll  take  any  odds 
you  like  to  offer,  from  matching  pennies  to  backing  an 
unknown  horse." 

Mrs.  Saunders  sighed.  It  was  a  wicked  world  into 
which  her  boy  had  to  go  to  earn  his  living,  evi- 
dently. 

**And  now,  mother,  I  really  must  be  off.  I'll  stay 
at  home  to-morrow  night  and  take  my  scolding  like  a 
man.     Good-night." 

He  kissed  her  and  hurried  away  before  she  could 


in 


a 


''AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."    97 

say  anything  more,  leaving  her  sitting  there  with 
folded  hands  to  await,  with  her  customary  patience 
and  just  a  trifle  of  apprehension,  the  coming  of  her 
husband.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  heavy  footfall. 
Mrs.  Saunders  smiled  sadly  as  she  heard  it,  remember- 
ing that  Dick  had  said  once  that,  even  if  he  were  safe 
within  the  gates  of  Paradise,  the  sound  of  his  father's 
footsteps  would  make  the  chills  run  up  his  backbone. 
She  had  reproved  the  levity  of  the  remark  at  the 
time,  but  she  often  thought  of  it,  especially  whtin  she 
knew  there  was  trouble  ahead — as  there  usually 
was. 

"  Where's  Richard  ?  Isn't  he  home  yet  ?  "  were  the 
old  man's  first  words. 

"  He  has  been  home,  but  he  had  to  go  out  again. 
He  had  an  appointment. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  I  wanted  to  speak  with  him?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  said  he  would  stay  home  to-morrow 
night." 

"  Did  he  know  what  I  said  to-night  ?" 

*'  I'm  not  sure  that  I  told  him  you -" 

"  Don't  shuffle  now.-  He  either  knew  or  he  did  not. 
Which  is  it?' 

*'  Yes,  he  knew,  but  he  thought  it  might  not  be  ur- 
gent, and  he " 

"  That  will  do.     Where  is  his  appointment?  " 

"At  the  club,  I  think." 

*'  Ah-h-h  !  "  The  old  man  dw^elt  on  the  exclamation 
as  if  he  had  at  last  drawn  out  the  reluctant  worst. 
"  Did  he  say  when  he  would  be  home?  " 

"  No." 

"  Very  well.     I  will  wait  half-an-hour  for  him,  and 


;  H 


i ! 


ii 


98 


REVENGE! 


:  a.   '^ 


if  he  is  not  in  by  that  time  1  will  go  to  his  club  and 
have  my  talk  with  him  there." 

Old  Mr.  Saunders  sat  grimly  down  with  his  hat  still 
on,  and  crossed  his  hands  over  the  knob  of  his  stout 
walking-stick,  watching  the  clock  that  ticked  slowly 
against  the  wall.  Under  these  distressing  circum- 
stances the  old  woman  lost  her  presence  of  mind  and  did 
the  very  thing  she  should  not  have  done.  She  should 
have  agreed  with  him,  but  instead  of  that  she  op- 
posed the  plan  and  so  made  it  inevitable.  It  would 
be  a  cruel  thing,  she  said,  to  shame  their  son  before 
his  friends,  to  make  him  a  laughing-stock  among  his 
acquaintances.  Whatever  was  to  be  said  could  be 
said  as  well  to-morrow  night  as  to-night,  and  that  in 
their  own  home,  where,  at  least,  no  stranger  would 
overhear.  As  the  old  man  made  no  answer  but  silently 
watched  the  clock,  she  became  almost  indignant  with 
him.  She  felt  she  was  culpable  in  entertaining  even 
the  suspicion  of  such  a  feeling  against  her  lawful  hus- 
band, but  it  did  seem  to  her  that  he  was  not  acting 
judiciously  towards  Dick.  She  hoped  to  turn  his  re- 
sentment from  their  son  to  herself,  and  would  have 
welcomed  any  outburst  directed  against  her  alone.  In 
this  excited  state,  being  brought,  as  it  were,  to  bay, 
she  had  the  temerity  to  say — 

"  You  are  wrong  about  one  thing,  and  you  may  also 
be  wrong  in  thinking  Dick — in — in  what  you  think 
about  Dick." 

The  old  man  darted  one  lowering  look  at  her,  and 
though  she  trembled,  she  welcomed  the  glance  as  in- 
dicating the  success  of  her  red  herring. 

*'  What  was  I  wrong  about  ?  " 


"AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."     99 


10 


*'  You  were  wrong — Mr.  Hammond  knows  Dick  is  a 
member  of  the  club.  He  is  a  member  himself  and  he 
insisted  Dick  should  join.  That's  why  he  raised  his 
salary." 

'•  A  likely  story  !     Who  told  you  that?" 

"  Dick  told  me  himself." 

"  And  you  believed  it,  of  course ! "  Saunders 
laughed  in  a  sneering,  cynical  sort  of  way  and  resumed 
his  scrutiny  of  the  clock.  The  old  woman  gave  up  the 
fight  and  began  to  weep  silently,  hoping,  but  in  vain, 
to  hear  the  light  step  of  her  son  approaching  the  door. 
The  clock  struck  the  hour;  the  old  man  rose  without 
a  word,  drew  his  hat  further  over  his  brow,  and  left 
the  house. 

Up  to  the  last  moment  Mrs.  Saunders  hardly  be- 
lieved her  husband  would  carry  out  his  threat.  Now, 
when  she  realised  he  was  determined,  she  had  one 
wild  thought  of  Hying  to  the  club  and  warning  her 
son.  A  moment's  consideration  put  that  idea  out  of 
the  question.  She  called  the  serving-maid,  who  came, 
as  it  seemed  to  the  anxious  woman,  with  exasperating 
deliberation. 

"Jane,"  she  cried,  **  do  you  know  where  the  Athletic 
Club  is?     Do  you  know  where  Centre  Street  is?" 

Jane  knew  neither  club  nor  locality. 

"  I  want  a  message  taken  there  to  Dick,  and  it 
must  go  quickly.  Don't  you  think  you  could  run 
there " 

"  It  would  be  quicker  to  telegraph,  ma'am,"  said 
Jane,  who  was  not  anxious  to  run  anywhere.  "  There's 
telegraph  paper  in  Mr.  Richard's  room,  and  the  office 
is  just  round  the  corner." 


^Il 


100 


REVENGE! 


Ill 


■i)  ji 


1 1<' 


1  t 


!'  ,i    & 


"That's  it,  Jane;  I'm  glad  you  thought  of  it.  Get 
me  a  telegraph  form.     Do  make  haste." 

She  wrote  with  a  trembling  hand,  as  plainly  as  she 
could,  so  that  her  son  might  have  no  diflficulty  in 
reading ; — 

"  Richard  Saunders,  Athletic  Club,  Centre  Street. 
"Your  father  is  coming  to  see  you.     He  will  be  at 
the  club  before  half-an-hour." 

"  There  is  no  need  to  sign  it  ;  he  will  know  his 
mother's  writing,"  said  Mrs.  Saunders,  as  she  handed 
the  message  and  the  money  to  Jane  ;  and  Jane  made 
no  comment,  for  she  knew  as  little  of  telegraphing  as 
did  her  mistress.  Then  the  old  woman,  having  done 
her  best,  prayed  that  the  telegram  might  arrive  before 
her  husband  ;  and  her  prayer  was  answered,  for  elec- 
tricity is  more  speedy  than  an  old  man's  legs. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Saunders  strode  along  from  the 
suburb  to  the  city.  His  stout  stick  struck  the  stone 
pavement  with  a  sharp  click  that  sounded  in  the  still, 
frosty,  night  air  almost  like  a  pistol  shot.  He  would 
show  both  his  wife  and  his  son  that  he  was  not  too 
old  to  be  master  in  his  own  house.  He  talked  angrily 
to  himself  as  he  went  along,  and  was  wroth  to  find  his 
anger  lessening  as  he  neared  his  destination.  Anger 
must  be  very  just  to  hold  its  own  during  a  brisk  walk 
in  evening  air  that  is  cool  and  sweet. 

Mr.  Saunders  was  somewhat  abashed  to  find  the 
club  building  a  much  more  imposing  edifice  than  he 
had  expected.  There  was  no  low,  groggy  appearance 
about  the  True  Blue  Athletic  Club.  It  was  brilliantly 
lit  from    basement   to  attic.     A  group  of   men,  with 


"AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."    loi 


Id 


ce 

fly 

th 


•^ 


hands  in  pockets,  stood  on  the  kerb  as  if  waiting  for 
something.  There  was  an  air  of  occasion  about  the 
place.  The  old  man  inquired  of  one  of  the  loafers  if 
that  was  the  Athletic  Club. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  was  the  answer  ;  '*  are  you  going  in?  " 

"  I  intend  to." 

"  Are  you  a  member  ?  '* 

''  No." 

*'  Got  an  invitation?" 

"No." 

"  Then  I  suspect  you  won't  go  in.  We've  tried 
every  dodge  ourselves." 

The  possibility  of  not  getting  in  had  never  occurred 
to  the  old  gentleman,  and  the  thought  that  his  son, 
safe  within  the  sacred  precincts  of  a  club,  might  defy 
him,  flogged  his  flagging  anger  and  aroused  his  dogged 
determination. 

"  I'll  try,  at  least,"  he  said,  going  up  the  stone  steps. 

The  men  watched  him  with  a  smile  on  their  lips. 
They  saw  him  push  the  electric  button,  whereupon 
the  door  opened  slightly.  There  was  a  brief,  unheard 
parley  ;  then  the  door  swung  wide  open,  and,  when 
Mr.  Saunders  entered,  it  shut  again. 

"  Well,  I'm  blest !  "  said  the  man  on  the  kerb ;  '*  I 
wonder  how  the  old  duffer  worked  it.  I  wish  I  had 
asked  him."  None  of  the  rest  made  any  comment ; 
they  were  struck  dumb  with  amazement  at  the  success 
of  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  even  to  ask  if  that 
were  the  club. 

When  the  porter  opened  the  door  he  repeated  one 
of  the  questions  asked  a  moment  before  by  the  man 
on  the  kerb. 


> ! 
*  I 

f 


U 


I 


I02 


REVENGE I 


**  Have  you  an  invitation,  sir?" 

"  No,"  answered  the  old  man,  deftly  placing  his 
stick  so  that  the  barc.'ly  opened  dour  could  not  be 
closed  until  it  was  withdrawn.  "  No  I  I  want  to  see 
my  son,  Richard  Saunders.     Is  he  inside?  " 

The  porter  instantly  threw  open  the  door. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "They're  expecting  you,  sir. 
Kindly  come  this  way,  sir." 

The  old  man  followed,  vondering  at  the  cordiality 
of  his  reception.  There  must  be  some  mistake. 
Expecting  him  ?  How  could  that  be  !  He  was  led 
into  a  most  sumptuous  parlour  where  a  cluster  of 
electric  lamps  in  the  ceiling  threw  a  soft  radiance 
around  the  room. 

"  Be  seated,  sir.  I  will  tell  Mr.  Hammond  that  you 
are  here." 

"  But — stop  a  moment — I  don't  wynt  to  see  Mr. 
Hammond.  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  Mr.  Hammond. 
1  want  to  see  my  son.  Is  it  Mr.  Hammond  the 
banker?" 

*'  Yes,  sir.  He  told  me  to  bring  you  in  here  when 
you  came  and  to  let  him  know  at  once." 

The  old  man  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow,  and 
ere  he  could  reply  the  porter  had  disappeared.  He 
sat  down  in  one  of  the  exceedingly  easy  leather  chairs 
and  gazed  in  bewilderment  around  the  room.  The 
fine  pictures  on  the  wall  related  exclusively  to  sport- 
ing subjects.  A  trim  yacht,  with  its  tall,  slim  masts 
and  towering  cloud  of  canvas  at  an  apparently  danger- 
o  s  angle,  seemed  sailing  directly  at  the  spectator, 
t  ugilists,  naked  to  the  waists,  held  their  clinched  fists 
in  menacing  attitudes.     Race-horses,  in  states  of  activ- 


"AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."  103 


^hen 

and 

He 

liairs 

The 
Dort- 

lasts 

iger- 

lator. 

fists 

ictiv- 


ity  and  at  rest,  were  interspersed  here  and  tiiere.  In 
the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  pedestal  of  black  njarble, 
and  upon  it  rested  a  huge  silver  vase  encrusted  with 
ornamentation.  The  old  man  did  not  know  that  this 
elaborate  specimen  of  the  silversmith's  art  was  referred 
to  as  the  "  "^up.  '  Some  one  had  hung  a  placard  on  it, 
bearing;  in  crudely  scrawled  letters  the  words:— 

"  Fare  thee  well,  and  if  for  ever 
Still  for  ever  Fare  thee  well." 

While  the  old  man  was  wondering  what  all  this 
meant,  the  curtain  suddenly  parted  and  there  entered 
an  elderly  gentleman  somewhat  jauntily  attired  in 
cening  dress  with  a  rose  at  his  buttonhole.  Saunders 
instantly  recognised  him  as  the  banker,  and  he  felt  a 
resentment  at  what  he  considered  his  foppish  appear- 
ance, realising  almost  at  the  same  moment  the  rusti- 
ness  of  his  own  clothes,  an  eveiyday  suit,  not  too 
expensive  even  when  new. 

"How  are  you,  Mr.  Saunders?"  cried  the  banker, 
cordially  extending  his  hand.  "  I  am  very  pleased 
indeed  to  meet  you.  VVe  got  your  telegram,  but 
thought  it  best  not  to  give  it  to  Dick.  I  took  the 
liberty  of  opening  it  myself.  You  see  we  can't  be  too 
careful  about  these  little  details.  I  told  the  porter  to 
look  after  you  and  let  me  know  the  moment  you  came. 
Of  course  you  are  ver /  anxious  about  your  boy." 

"  I  am,"  said  the  old  man  firmly.  "  That's  why  I'm 
here." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  So  are  we  all,  and  I  presume 
I'm  the  most  anxious  man  of  the  lot.  Now  what  you 
want  to  know  is  how  he  is  getting  along?" 


li 


ill 

m 


Si  ■'      .'.■ 


itil  I 


*  I' 


104 


REVENGE! 


"  Yes ;  I  want  to  know  the  truth." 

"  Well,  unfortunately,  the  truth  is  about  as  gloomy 
as  it  can  be.  He's  been  going  from  bad  to  worse,  and 
no  man  is  more  sorry  than  I  am." 

"  Do  vou  mean  to  tell  me  so  ?  " 

•'  Yes.  There  is  no  use  deluding  ourselves.  Frankly, 
I  have  no  hope  for  him.  There  is  not  one  chance  in 
ten  thousand  of  his  recovering  his  lost  ground." 

The  old  man  caught  his  breath,  and  leaned  on  his 
cane  for  support.  He  realised  now  the  hollowness  of 
his  previous  anger.  He  had  never  for  a  moment  be- 
lieved the  boy  was  going  to  the  bad.  Down  under- 
neath his  crustiness  was  a  deep  love  for  his  son  and  a 
strong  faith  in  him.  He  had  allowed  his  old  habit  of 
domineering  to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  now  in 
searching  after  a  phantom  he  had  suddenly  come  upon 
a  ghastly  reality. 

"  Look  here,"  said  the  banker,  noticing  his  agitation, 
"  have  a  drink  of  our  Special  Scotch  with  me.  It  is 
the  best  there  is  to  be  had  for  money.  We  always 
take  off  our  hats  when  we  speak  of  the  Special  in 
this  club.  Then  we'll  go  and  see  how  things  are 
moving." 

As  he  turned  to  order  the  liquor  he  noticed  for  the 
first  time  the  placard  on  the  cup. 

"  Now,  who  the  dickens  put  that  there  ?  "  he  ciied 
angrily.  "  There's  no  use  in  giving  up  before  you're 
thrashed."  Saying  which,  he  tock  off  the  placard, 
tore  it  up,  and  threw  it  into  the  waste  basket. 

"  Does  Richard  drink?  "  asked  the  old  man  huskily, 
remembering  the  eulogy  on  the  Special. 

"  Bless  you,  no.     Nor  smoke  either.     No,  nor  gam- 


AND   IHE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."    105 


I 


I 


ble,  which  is  more  extraordinary.  No,  it's  all  right 
for  old  fellows  like  you  and  me  to  indulge  in  the 
Special — bless  it — but  a  young  man  who  needs  to  keep 
his  nerves  in  order,  has  to  live  like  a  monk.  I  imag- 
ine it's  a  love  affair.  Of  course,  there's  no  use  asking 
you  :  you  would  be  the  last  one  to  know.  When  he 
came  in  to-night  I  saw  he  was  worried  over  something. 
I  asked  him  what  it  was,  but  he  declared  there  was 
nothing  wrong.  Here's  the  liquor.  You'll  find  that 
it  reaches  the  spot." 

The  old  man  gulped  down  some  of  the  celebrated 
"  Special,"  then  he  said — 

*'  Is  it  true  that  you  induced  my  son  to  join  this 
club?" 

"  Certainly.  I  heard  what  he  could  do  from  a  man 
I  had  confidence  in,  and  I  said  to  myself,  We  must 
have  young  Saunders  for  a  member." 

"  Then  don't  you  think  you  are  largely  to  blame  ?" 

"  Oh,  if  you  like  to  put  it  that  way  ;  yes.  Still  I'm 
the  chief  loser.     I  lose  ten  thousand  by  him." 

"  Good  God ! "  cried  the  stricken  father. 

The  banker  looked  at  the  old  man  a  little  nervously, 
as  if  he  feared  his  head  was  not  exactly  right.  Then 
he  said  :  **  Of  course  you  will  be  anxious  to  see  how 
the  thing  ends.  Come  in  with  me,  but  be  careful  the 
boy  doesn't  catch  sight  of  you.  It  might  rattle  him. 
I'll  get  ^'ou  a  place  at  the  back,  where  you  can  see 
without  being  seen." 

They  rose,  and  the  banker  led  the  way  on  tiptoe 
between  the  curtains  into  a  large  room  filled  with 
silent  men  earnestly  watching  a  player  at  a  billiard 
table  in   the   centre   of   the   apartment.     Temporary 


'1 


y 


m 


In 


I, 


;i 


1 06 


RF.VENGE! 


seats  had  been  built  around  the  walls,  tier  above  tier, 
and  every  place  was  taken.  Saunders  noticed  his 
son  standing  near  the  table  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with 
his  cue  butt  downward  on  the  ground.  His  face  was 
pale  and  his  lips  compressed  as  he  watched  his  oppo- 
nent's play  like  a  man  fascinated.  Evidently  his 
back  was  against  the  wall,  and  he  was  fighting  a  hope- 
less fight,  but  was  grit  to  the  last. 

Old  Saunders  only  faintly  understood  the  situation, 
but  his  whole  sympathy  went  out  to  his  boy,  and  he 
felt  an  instinctive  hatred  of  the  confident  opponent 
who  was  knocking  the  balls  about  with  a  reckless 
accuracy  which  was  evidently  bringing  dismay  to  the 
hearts  of  at  least  half  the  onlookers. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  burst  of  applause,  and  the 
player  stood  up  straight  with  a  laugh. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  cried  the  banker,  "  he's  missed.  Didn't 
put  enough  stick  behind  it.  That  comes  of  being  too 
blamed  sure.  Shouldn't  wonder  but  there  is  going 
to  be  a  turn  of  luck.  Perhaps  you'll  prove  a  mascot, 
Mr.  Saunders." 

He  placed  the  old  man  on  an  elevated  seat  at  the 
back.  There  was  a  buzz  of  talk  as  young  Saunders 
stood  there  chalking  his  cue,  apparently  loth  to  begin. 

Hammond  mixed  among  the  crowd,  and  spoke 
eagerly  now  to  one,  now  to  another.  Old  Saunders 
said  to  the  man  next  him — 

'*  What  is  it  all  about  ?    Is  this  an  important  match  ?  " 

"  Important  !  You  bet  it  is.  I  suppose  there's 
more  money  on  this  game  than  was  ever  put  on  a 
billiard  match  before.  Why,  Jule  Hammond  alone 
has  ten  thousand  on  Saunders." 


' 


•'AND  THE  RIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME.'    107 

The  old  man  gave  a  quivering  sigh  of  relief.  He 
was  beginning  co  understand.  The  ten  thousand, 
then,  was  not  the  figures  of  a  defalcation. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  other,  "  it's  the  great  match 
for  the  cup.  There's  been  a  series  of  games,  and  this 
is  the  culminating  one.  Prognor  has  won  one,  and 
Saunders  ore  ;  now  this  game  settles  it.  Prognor  is 
the  man  of  the  High  P^liers'  Club.  He's  a  good  one. 
Saunders  won  the  cup  for  this  club  last  year,  so  they 
can't  kick  much  if  they  lose  it  now.  They've  never 
had  a  man  to  touch  Saunders  in  this  club  since  it 
began.  I  doubt  if  there's  another  amateur  like  him 
in  this  country.  He's  a  man  to  be  proud  of,  although 
he  seemed  to  go  to  pieces  to-night.  They'll  all  be 
down  on  him  to-morrow  if  they  lose  their  money, 
although  he  don't  meike  anything  one  way  or  another. 
I  believe  it's  the  high  betting  that's  made  him  so 
anxious  and  spoiled  his  play." 

**  Hush,  hush!"  was  whispered  around  the  ro.^m. 
Young  Saunders  had  begun  to  play.  Prognor  stood 
by  with  a  superior  smile  on  his  lips.  He  was  certain 
to  go  out  when  his  turn  came  again. 

Saunders  played  very  carefully,  taking  no  risks,  and 
his  father  watched  him  with  absorbed,  breathless  inter- 
est. Though  he  knew  nothing  of  the  game  he  soon 
began  to  see  how  points  were  made.  The  boy  never 
looked  up  from  the  green  cloth  and  the  balls.  He 
stepped  around  the  table  to  his  different  positions 
without  hurry,  and  yet  without  undue  tardiness.  All 
eyes  were  fastened  on  his  play,  and  there  was  not  a 
sound  in  the  large  room  but  the  ever-recurring  click- 
click  of  the  balls.    The  father  marvelled  at  the  almost 


■  r 

1  ' 


;  4 


■■  '-'t'-i 
1   ■■'a 


f 


I  '1 


io8 


REVENGE! 


ni 


magical  command  the  player  had  over  the  ivory 
spheres.  They  came  and  went,  rebounded  and  struck, 
seemingly  because  he  willed  this  result  or  that. 
There  was  a  dexterity  of  touch,  and  accurate  measure- 
ment of  force,  a  correct  estimate  of  angles,  a  truth  of 
the  eye,  and  a  muscular  control  that  left  the  old  man 
amazed  that  the  combination  of  all  these  delicate  nice- 
ties were  concentrated  in  one  person,  and  that  person 
his  own  son. 

At  last  two  of  the  balls  lay  close  together,  and  the 
young  man,  playing  very  deftly,  appeared  to  be  able 
to  keep  them  in  that  position  as  if  he  might  go  on 
scoring  indefinitely.  He  went  on  in  this  way  for 
some  time,  when  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by 
Prognor  crying  out — 

**  I  don't  call  that  billiards.     It's  baby  play." 

Instantly  there  was  an  uproar.  Saunders  grounded 
his  cue  on  the  floor  and  stood  calmly  amidst  the 
storm,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  green  cloth.  There  were 
shouts  of  "  You  were  not  interrupted,"  **  That's  for  the 
umpire  to  decide,"  "  Play  your  game,  Saunders," 
"  Don't  be  bluffed."  The  old  man  stood  up  with  the 
rest,  and  his  natural  combativeness  urged  him  to  take 
part  in  the  fray  and  call  for  fair  play.  The  umpire 
rose  and  demanded  order.  When  the  tumult  had  sub- 
sided, he  sat  down.  Some  of  the  High  Fliers,  how- 
ever, cried,  *'  Decision  !  Decision  !  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  decide,"  said  the  umpire, 
severely.     "  Go  on  with  your  play,  Mr.  Saunders." 

Then  young  Saunders  did  a  thing  that  took  away 
the  breath  of  his  iriends.  He  deliberately  struck  the 
balls  with  his  cue   ball  and   scattered    them  far  and 


''AND  TllK   KIGOUR  OF  THE  GAME."    109 

wide.  A  simultaneous  sigh  seemed  to  rise  from  the 
breasts  of  the  True  Blues. 

"  That  is  magnificent,  but  it  is  not  war,"  said  the 
man  beside  old  Saunders.  "  He  has  no  right  to 
throw  away  a  single  chance  when  he  is  so  far  behind." 

"  Oh,  he's  not  so  far  behind.  Look  at  the  score," 
put  in  a  man  on  the  right. 

Saunders  carefully  nursed  the  balls  up  together 
once  more,  scored  off  them  for  a  while,  and  again  he 
struck  them  far  apart.  This  he  did  three  times.  He 
apparently  seemed  bent  on  showing  how  completely  he 
had  the  table  under  his  control.  Suddenly  a  great 
cheer  broke  out,  and  young  Saunders  rested  as  before 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  the  cloth. 

'*  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  cried  the  old  man  ex- 
citedly, with  dry  lips. 

"Why,  don't  you  see?  He's  tied  the  score.  I 
imagine  this  is  almost  an  unprecedented  run.  I  be- 
lieve  he's  got  Prognor  on  toast,  if  you  ask  me." 

Hammond  came  up  with  flushed  face,  and  grasped  the 
old  man  by  the  arm  with  a  vigour  that  made  him  wince. 

*'  Did  you  ever  see  anything  grander  than  that  ?  " 
he  said,  under  cover  of  the  momentary  applause. 
"  I'm  willing  to  lose  my  ten  thousand  now  without  a 
murmur.     You  see,  you  arc  a  mascot  after  all." 

The  old  man  was  too  much  excited  to  speak,  but 
he  hoped  the  boy  would  take  no  more  chances.  Again 
came  the  click-click  of  the  balls.  The  father  was 
pleased  to  see  that  Dick  played  now  v*  ith  all  the  care 
and  caution  he  had  observed  at  first.  The  silence 
became  intense,  almost  painful.  Every  man  leaned 
forward  and  scarcely  breathed. 


n 


1 10 


REVENGE 


All  at  once  Prognor  strode  down  to  the  billiard- 
table  and  stretched  his  hand  across  it.  A  cheer  shook 
the  ceiling.  The  cup  would  remain  on  its  black 
marble  pedestal.  Saunders  had  won.  He  took  the 
outstretched  hand  of  his  defeated  opponent,  and  the 
building  rang  again. 

Banker  Hammond  pushed  his  way  through  the  con- 
gratulating crowd  and  smote  the  winner  cordially  on 
the  shoulder. 

"  That  was  a  great  run,  Dick,  my  boy.  The  old 
man  was  your  mascot.  Your  luck  changed  the  mo- 
ment he  came  in.  Your  father  had  his  eye  on  you  all 
the  time." 

"  What !  "  cried  Dick,  with  a  jump. 

A  flush  came  over  his  pale  face  as  he  caught  his 
father's  eye,  although  the  old  man's  glance  was  kindly 
enough. 

"  I'm  very  proud  of  you,  my  son,"  said  his  father, 
when  at  last  he  reached  him.  "  It  takes  skill  and 
pluck  and  nerve  to  win  a  contest  like  that.  I'm  off 
now  ;  I  want  to  tell  your  mother  about  it." 

"  Wait  a  moment,  father,  and  we'll  walk  home 
together,"  said  Dick. 


^ 


THE  BROMLEY   GIBBERTS  STORY. 


'*> 


The  room  in  which  John  Shorely  edited  the 
Weekly  Sponge  was  not  luxuriously  furnished,  but  it 
was  comfortable.  A  few  pictures  decorated  the  walls, 
mostly  black  and  white  drawings  by  artists  who  were 
so  unfortunate  as  to  be  compelled  to  work  for  the 
Sponge  on  the  cheap.  Magazines  and  papers  were 
littered  all  about,  chiefly  American  in  their  origin,  for 
Shorely  had  been  brought  up  in  the  editorial  school 
which  teaches  that  it  is  cheaper  to  steal  from  a  foreign 
publication  than  waste  good  money  on  original  contri- 
butions. You  clipped  out  the  story  ;  changed  New 
York  to  London ;  Boston  or  Philadelphia  to  Man- 
chester or  Liverpool,  and  there  you  were. 

Shorely's  theory  was  that  the  public  was  a  fool,  and 
didn't  know  the  difference.  Some  of  the  greatest 
journalistic  successes  in  London  proved  the  fact,  he 
claimed,  yet  the  Sponge  frequently  bought  stories 
from  well-known  authors,  and  bragged  greatly  about 
it. 

Shorely's  table  was  littered  with  manuscripts,  but 
the  attention  of  the  great  editor  was  not  upon  them. 
He  sat  in  his  wooden  armchair,  with  his  gaze  on  the 
fire  and  a  frown  on  his  brow.  The  Sponge  was  not 
going   well,  and  he  feared  he   would  have   to  adopt 


c 

i 


I  12 


REVENGE 


some  of  the  many  ptize  schemes  that  were  such  a  help 
to  pure  Hterature  elsewhere,  or  offer  a  thousand  pounds 
insurance,  tied  up  in  such  a  way  that  it  would  look 
lavishly  generous  to  the  constant  reader,  and  yet  be 
impossible  to  collect  if  a  disaster  really  occurred. 

In  the  midst  of  his  meditations  a  clerk  entered  and 
announced — "  Mr.  Bromley  Gibberts." 

"Tell  him  I'm  busy  just  now — tell  him  I'm  en- 
gaged," said  the  editor,  while  the  perplexed  frown 
deepened  on  his  brow. 

The  clerk's  conscience,  however,  was  never  burdened 
with  that  message,  for  Gibberts  entered,  with  a  long 
ulster  coat  flapping  about  his  heels. 

''That's  all  right,"  said  Gibberts,  waving  his  hand  at 
the  boy,  who  stood  with  open  mouth,  appalled  at  the 
intrusion.  "You  heard  what  Mr.  Shorely  said.  He's 
engaged.     Therefore  let  no  one  enter.     Get  out." 

The  boy  departed,  closing  the  door  after  him. 
Gibberts  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  then  sat 
down. 

"  There,"  he  said  ;  "  now  we  can  talk  unmolested, 
Shorely.  I  should  think  you  would  be  pestered  to 
death  by  all  manner  of  idiots  who  come  in  and  inter- 
rupt you." 

"  I  am,"  said  the  editor,  shortly. 

"  Then  take  my  plan,  and  lock  your  door.  Com- 
municate with  the  outer  office  through  a  speaking- 
tube.  I  see  you  are  down-hearted,  so  I  have  come  to 
cheer  you  up.     I've  brought  you  a  story,  my  boy." 

Shorely  groaned. 

*'  My  dear  Gibberts,"  he  said,  "  we  have  now " 

*'  Oh  yes,  I  know  all  about  that.     You  have  matter 


i 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY.     113 

enough  on  hand  to  run  the  paper  for  the  next  fifteen 
years.  If  this  is  a  comic  story,  you  are  buying  only 
serious  stuff.  If  this  be  tragic,  humour  is  what  you 
need.  Of  course,  the  up-and-down  truth  is  that  you 
are  short  of  money,  and  can't  pay  my  price.  The 
Sponge  is  failing — everybody  knows  that.  Why  can't 
you  speak  the  truth,  Shorcly,  to  me,  at  least  ?  If  you 
practised  an  hour  a  day,  and  took  lessons — from  me, 
for  instance — you  would  be  able  in  a  month  to  speak 
several  truthful  sentences  one  after  the  other." 

The  editor  laughed  bitterly. 

"  You  are  complimentary,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  not  Try  again,  Shorely.  Say  I'm  a  boorish 
ass. 

**  Well,  you  are." 

"  There,  you  see  how  easy  it  is !  Practice  is  every- 
thing.    Now,  about  this  story,  will  you " 

**  I  will  not.  As  you  are  not  an  advertiser,  I  don't 
mind  admitting  to  you  that  the  paper  is  going  down. 
You  see  it  comes  to  the  same  thing.  We  haven't  the 
money,  as  you  say,  so  what's  the  use  of  talking?" 

Gibberts  hitched  his  chair  closer  to  the  editor,  and 
placed  his  hand  on  the  other's  knee.  He  went  on 
earnestly — 

"  Now  is  the  time  to  talk,  Shorely.  In  a  little 
while  it  will  be  too  late.  You  will  have  thrown  up  the 
Sponge.  Your  great  mistake  is  trying  to  ride  two  horses, 
each  facing  a  different  direction.  It  can't  be  done,  my 
boy.  Make  up  your  mind  whether  you  are  going  to 
be  a  thief  or  .\n  honest  man.     That's  the  first  step." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.     Go  in  for  a  })apcr  that 


V 


114 


REVENGE! 


'f* 


I 


will  be  entirely  stolen  property,  or  for  one  made  up 
of  purely  original  matter." 

"We  have  a  great  deal  of  original  matter  in  the 
Sponger 

"Yes,  and  that's  what  I  object  to.  Have  it  all 
original,  or  have  it  all  stolen.  Be  fish  or  fowl.  At 
least  one  hundred  men  a  week  see  a  stolen  article  in 
the  Sponge  which  they  have  read  elsewhere.  They 
then  believe  it  is  all  stolen,  and  you  lose  them. 
That  isn't  business,  so  I  want  to  sell  you  one  original 
tale,  which  will  prove  to  be  the  most  remarkable  story 
written  in  England  this  year." 

"  Oh,  they  all  are,"  said  Shorcly,  wearily.  "  Every 
story  sent  to  me  is  a  most  remarkable  story,  in  the 
author's  opinion." 

**  Look  here,  Shorely,"  cried  Gibberts,  angrily,  "you 
mustn't  talk  to  me  like  that.  I'm  no  unknown  author, 
a  fact  of  which  you  are  very  well  aware.  I  don't  need 
to  peddle  my  goods." 

"  Then  why  do  you  come  here  lecturing  me  ?  " 

"  For  your  own  good,  Shorely,  my  boy,"  said  Gib- 
berts, calming  down  as  rapidly  as  he  had  flared  up. 
He  was  a  most  uncertain  man.  "For  your  own  good, 
and  if  you  don't  take  this  story,  some  one  else  will. 
It  will  make  the  fortune  of  the  paper  that  secures  it. 
Now,  you  read  it  while  I  wait.  Here  it  is,  typewrit- 
ten, at  one-and-three  a  thousand  words,  all  to  save 
your  blessed  eyesight." 

Shorely  took  ihe  manuscript  and  lit  the  gas,  for  it 
was  getting  dark.  Gibberts  sat  down  awhile,  but  soon 
began  to  pace  the  room,  much  to  Shorely's  manifest 
annoyance.  Not  content  with  this,  he  picked  up  the 
poker  and  ncisily  stirred  the  fire. 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY.      115 


"  For  Heavens  sake,  sit  down,  Gibberts,  and  be 
quiet !  "  cried  Shorely,  at  last. 

Gibberts  seized  the  poker  as  if  it  had  been  a  weapon, 
and  glared  at  the  editor. 

**  I  won't  sit  down,  and  I  will  make  just  as  much 
noise  as  I  want  to,"  he  roared.  As  he  stood  there 
defiantly,  Shorely  saw  a  gleam  of  insanity  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  very  well,  then,"  said  Shorely,  continuing  to 
read  the  story. 

For  a  moment  Gibberts  stood  grasping  the  poker 
by  the  middle,  then  he  flung  it  with  a  clatter  on  the 
fender,  and,  sitting  down,  gazed  moodily  into  the  fire, 
without  moving,  until  Shorely  had  turned  the  last 
page. 

"Well,"  said  Gibberts,  rousing  from  his  reverie, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

"  It's  a  good  story,  Gibberts.  All  your  stories  are 
good,"  said  the  editor,  carelessly. 

Gibberts  started  to  his  feet,  and  swore. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  he  thundered,  *'  that  you 
see  nothing  in  that  story  different  trom  any  I  or  any 
one  else  ever  wrote?  Hang  it,  Shorely,  you  wouldn't 
know  a  good  story  if  you  met  it  coming  up  Fleet 
Street !  Can't  you  see  that  story  is  written  with  a 
man's  heart's  blood  ?  " 

Shorely  stretched  out  his  legs  and  thrust  his  hands 
far  down  in  his  trousers'  pockets. 

"It  may  have  been  written  as  you  say,  although  I 
thought  you  called  my  attention  a  moment  ago  to  its 
type-written  character." 

"  Don't  be  flippant,  Shorely,"  said  Gibberts,  relaps- 
ing again  into  melancholy.     "You  don't  like  the  story, 


i 


'■■A  I 

I  '  i 


ii6 


REVENGE I 


I 


then?  You  didn't  see  anything  unusual  in  it — pur- 
pose, force,  passion,  life,  death,  nothing?" 

"  There  is  death  enough  at  the  end.  My  objection 
is  that  there  is  too  much  blood  and  thunder  in  it. 
Such  a  tragedy  could  never  happen.  No  man  could 
go  to  a  country  house  and  slaughter  every  one  in  it. 
It's  absurd." 

Gibbcrts  sprang  from  his  seat  and  began  to  pace 
the  room  excitedly.  Suddenly  he  stopped  before  his 
friend,  towering  over  him,  his  long  ulster  making  him 
look  taller  than  he  really  was. 

"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  the  tragedy  of  my  life  ?  How 
the  property  that  would  have  kept  me  from  want 
has " 

"  Of  course  you  have,  Gibberts.  Sit  down.  You've 
told  it  to  everybody.     To  me  several  times." 

"  How  my  cousin  cheated  me  out  of " 

"Certainly.  Out  of  land  and  the  woman  you 
loved." 

"Oh  I  I  told  you  that,  did  I?"  said  Gibberts,  appar- 
ently abashed  at  the  other's  familiarity  with  the  cir- 
cumstances. He  Fat  down,  and  rested  his  head  in  his 
hands.     There  w  long  silence  between  the  two, 

which  was  fin'  jken  by  Gibberts  saying — 

"  So  you  c         care  about  the  story  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  that.  I  can  see  it  is  the  story  of 
your  own  life,  with  an  imaginary  and  sanguinary 
ending." 

"  Oh,  you  saw  that,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Yes.     How  much  do  you  want  for  it  ?  " 

"£io" 

"  What  ?  •• 


Tin:  BROMLEY  GIHBERTS  STORY.      117 

"ij50,  1  tell  you.  Are  you  deaf?  And  I  want  the 
money  now." 

"  Bless  your  innocent  heart,  I  can  buy  a  longer  story 
than  that  froni  the  greatest  author  living  for  less  than 
^'50.     Gibberts,  you're  crazy." 

Gibberts  looked  up  suddenly  and  inquiringly,  as  if 
that  thought  had  never  occurred  to  him  before,  lie 
seemed  rather  taken  with  the  idea.  It  would  explain 
many  things  which  had  puzzled  both  himself  and  his 
friends.  He  meditated  upon  the  matter  for  a  few 
moments,  but  at  last  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  Shorely,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "  I'm  not  in- 
sane, though,  goodness  knows,  I've  had  enough  to 
drive  me  mad.  I  don't  seem  to  have  the  luck  of 
some  people.  I  haven't  the  talent  for  going  crazy. 
But  to  return  to  the  story.  You  think  ^50  too  much 
for  it.  It  will  make  the  fortune  of  the  paper  that  pub- 
lishes it.  Let  me  see.  I  had  it  a  moment  ago,  but 
the  point  has  escaped  my  memory.  What  was  it  you 
objected  to  as  unnatural  ?  " 

*'  The  tragedy.  There  is  too  much  wholesale  mur- 
der at  the  er  J." 

"  Ah  !  now  I  have  it !     Now  I  recollect !  " 

Gibberts  began  energetically  to  pace  the  room 
again,  smiting  his  hands  together.  His  face  was  in 
a  glow  of  excitement. 

"Yes,  I  have  it  now.  The  tragedy.  Granting  a 
murder  like  that,  one  man  a  dead  shot,  killing  all  the 
people  in  a  country  house  ;  imagine  it  actually  taking 
place.     Wouldn't  all  England  ring  with  it?" 

*'  Naturally." 

*'  Of    course  it  would.     Now.  you    listen    to  me. 


1 


.'^ 


ii8 


REVENGE! 


m 

H 


m 


I'm  going  to  commit  that  so-called  crime.  One  week 
after  you  publish  the  story,  I'm  going  down  to  that 
country  house,  Channor  Chase.  It  is  my  house,  ii 
there  was  justice  and  right  in  England,  and  I'm  going 
to  slaughter  every  one  in  it.  I  will  leave  a  letter,  say- 
ing the  story  in  the  Sponge  is  the  true  story  of  what 
led  to  the  tragedy.  You  paper  in  a  week  will  be  the 
most-talked-of  journal  in  England — in  the  world.  It 
will  leap  instantaneously  into  a  circulation  such  as  no 
weekly  on  earth  ever  before  attained.  Look  here, 
Shorely,  that  story  is  worth  ;^50,CX)0  rather  than  ;^5o, 
and  if  you  don't  buy  it  at  once,  some  one  else  will. 
Now,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"I  say  you  are  joking,  or  else,  as  I  said  just  now, 
you  are  as  mad  as  a  hatter." 
,     "Admitting  I  am  mad,  will  you  take  the  story?" 

"  No,  but  I'll  prevent  you  committing  the  rrime." 

'  How?" 

"  By  giving  you  in  charge.     By  informing  on  you." 

"You  can't  do  it.  Until  such  a  crime  is  committed, 
no  one  would  believe  it  could  be  committed.  You 
have  no  witnesses  to  our  conversation  here,  and  I  will 
deny  every  assertion  you  make.  My  word,  at  present, 
is  as  good  as  yours.  All  you  i^an  do  is  to  ruin  your 
chance  of  fortune,  which  knocks  at  every  man's  door. 
When  I  came  in,  you  were  wondering  what  you  could 
do  to  put  the  Sponge  on  its  feet.  I  saw  it  in  your 
attitude.     Now,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

'*  I'll  give  you  £2^  for  the  story  on  its  o\\  n  merits, 
although  it  is  a  big  price,  and  you  need  not  commit 
the  crime." 

**  Done  !     That  is  the  sum   I  wanted,  but  I    knew  if 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY.      119 


lerits, 
Immit 

lew  if 


I  asked  it,  you  would  offer  me  ;^I2  io.y.  Will  you 
publish  it  within  the  month  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  Very  well.  Write  out  the  cheque.  Don't  cross  it. 
I've  no  bank  account." 

When  the  cheque  was  handed  to  him,  Gibberts 
thrust  it  into  the  ticket-pocket  of  his  ulster,  turned 
abruptly,  and  unlocked  the  door.   '*  Good-bye,"  he  said. 

As  he  disappeared,  Shorely  noticed  how  long  his 
ulster  was,  and  how  it  flapped  about  his  heels.  The 
next  time  he  saw  the  novelist  was  under  circumstances 
that  could  never  be  effaced  from  his  memory. 

The  Sponge  was  a  sixteen-page  paper,  with  a  blue 
cover,  and  the  week  Gibberts'  story  appeared,  it  oc- 
cupied the  first  seven  pages.  As  Shorely  ran  it  over 
in  the  paper,  it  impressed  him  more  than  it  had  done 
in  manuscript.  A  story  always  seems  more  convinc- 
ing in  type. 

Shorely  met  several  men  at  the  Club,  who  spoke 
highly  of  the  story,  and  at  last  he  began  to  believe  it 
was  a  good  one  himself.  Johnson  was  particularly 
enthusiastic,  and  every  one  in  the  Club  knew  Johnson's 
opinion  was  infallible. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  get  hold  of  it  ? "  he  said  to 
Shorely,  with  unnecessary  emphasis  on  the  personal 
pronoun. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  know  a  good  stoiy  when  I  see 
it?"  asked  the  editor,  indignantly. 

"  It  isn't  the  general  belief  of  the  Club,"  replied 
Johnson,  airily;  "but  then,  all  the  members  have 
sent  you  contributions,  so  perhaps  that  accounts  for 
it.     By  the  way,  have  you  seen  Gibberts  lately?" 


m 


I 


120 


REVENGE! 


"  No  ;  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"Well,  it  strikes  me  he  is  acting  rather  queerly.  If 
you  asked  me,  I  don't  think  he  is  quite  sane.  He  has 
something  on  his  mind." 

"  He  told  me,"  said  the  new  member,  with  some 
hesitation — "  but  really  I  don't  think  I'm  justified  in 
mentioning  it,  although  he  did  not  tell  it  in  confidence 
— that  he  was  the  rightful  heir  to  a  property  in " 

•*0h,  we  all  know  that  story!"  cried  the  Club, 
unanimously. 

"I  think  it's  ihe  Club  whiskey,"  \id  one  of  the 
oldest  members.     "  I  say,  it's  the  worst  in  London." 

"  Verbal  complaints  not  received.  Write  to  the 
Committee,"  put  in  Johnson.  "  If  Gibberts  has  a 
friend  in  the  Club,  which  I  doubt,  that  friend  should 
look  after  him.  I  believe  he  will  commit  suicide 
yet." 

These  sayings  troubled  Shorely  as  he  walked  back 
to  his  ofiice.  He  sat  down  to  w^'itc  a  note,  asking 
Gibberts  to  call.  As  he  was  writing,  McCabc,  the 
business  manager  of  the  Sponge,  came  in. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  old  sheet  this  week?'* 
he  asked. 

''Matter?  I  don't  understand  you." 
'  ''  Well,  I  have  just  sent  an  order  to  the  printer  to 
run  off  an  extra  ten  thousand,  and  here  comes  a  de- 
mand from  Smith's  for  the  whole  lot.  The  extra  ten 
thousand  were  to  go  to  different  newsagents  all  over 
the  country  who  have  sent  repeat  orders,  so  I  have 
told  the  printer  now  to  run  off  at  least  twenty-five 
thousand,  and  to  keep  the  plates  on  the  press.  1 
never  read   the  Sponge  myself,  so  I   thought  I   would 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY.     121 


s 


drop  in  and  ask  you  what  the  attraction  was.     Thi 
rush  is  unnatural. 

"  Better  read  the  paper  and  find  out,"  said  Shorely. 

"  I  would,  if  there  wasn't  so  much  of  your  stuff  in 
it,"  retorted  McCabe. 

Next  day  McCabe  reported  an  almost  bewildering 
increase  in  orders.  He  had  a  jubilant  ''  we've-done- 
it-at-last"  air  that  exasperated  Shorely,  who  felt  that 
he  alone  should  have  the  credit.  There  had  come  no 
answer  to  the  note  he  had  sent  Gibberts,  so  he  went 
to  the  Club,  in  the  hope  of  meeting  him.  He  found 
Johnson,  whom  he  asked  if  Gibberts  were  there. 

"  He's  not  been  here  to-day,"  said  Johnson;  *'but  I 
saw  him  yesterday,  and  what  do  you  think  he  was 
doing?  He  was  in  a  gun-shop  in  the  Strand,  buying 
cartridges  for  that  villainous-looking  seven-shooter  of 
his.  I  asked  him  what  he  was  going  to  do  with  a 
revolver  in  London,  and  he  told  me,  shortly,  that  it 
was  none  of  my  business,  which  struck  me  as  so  accu- 
rate a  summing-up  of  the  situation,  that  I  came  away 
without  making  further  remark.  If  you  w^nt  any 
more  stories  by  Gibberts,  you  should  look  after  him." 

Shorely  found  himself  rapidly  verging  into  a  state 
of  nervousness  regarding  Gibberts.  He  was  actually 
beginning  to  believe  the  novelist  meditated  some  wild 
action,  which  might  involve  others  in  a  disagreeable 
complication.  Shorely  had  no  desire  to  be  accessory 
either  before  or  after  the  fact.  He  hurried  back  to 
the  office,  and  there  found  Gibberts'  belated  reply  to 
his  note.  He  hastily  tore  it  open,  and  the  reading  of 
it  completely  banished  what  little  self-control  he  had 
left. 


l!' 


122 


REVENGE! 


"  Dear  Shorely, — I  know  why  you  want  to  see 
me,  but  I  have  so  many  affairs  to  settle,  that  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  call  upon  you.  However,  have 
no  fears;  I  shall  stand  to  my  bargain,  without  any 
goading  from  you.  Only  a  few  days  have  elapsed 
since  the  publication  of  the  story,  and  I  did  not  prom- 
ise the  tragedy  before  the  week  was  out.  I  leave  for 
Channor  Chase  this  afternoon.  You  shall  have  your 
pound  of  flesh,  and  more. — Yours, 

"BROMLEV  GiBBERTS." 

Shorely  was  somewhat  pale  about  the  lips  when  he 
had  finished  this  scrawl.  He  flung  on  his  coat,  and 
rushed  into  the  street.     Calling  a   hansom,  he  said — 

"  Drive  to  Kidner's  Inn  as  quickly  as  you  can. 
No.  15." 

Once  there,  he  sprang  up  the  steps  two  at  a  time, 
and  knocked  at  Gibberts'  door.  The  novelist  allowed 
himself  the  luxury  of  a  "  man,"  and  it  was  the  "  man  " 
who  answered  Shorely's  imperious  knock. 

"Where's  Gibberts?" 

**  He's  just  gone,  sir," 

"  Gone  where  ?  " 

"  To  Euston  Station,  I  believe,  sir ;  and  he  took  a 
hansom.  He's  going  into  the  country  for  a  week,  sir, 
and  I  wasn't  to  forward  his  letters,  so  I  haven't  his 
address." 


H 


ave  you  a 


n 


ABC? 


"Yes,  sir;  step  inside,  sir.  Mr.  Gibberts  was  just 
looking  up  trains  in  it,  sir,  before  he  left." 

Shorely  saw  it  was  open  at  C,  and,  looking  down  the 
column  to  Channor,  he  found  that  a  train  left  in  about 
twenty  minutes.     Without   a  word,  he  dashed  down 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STOR^'. 


123 


the  stairs  again.  The  "  man  "  did  not  seem  aston- 
ished.    Queer  fish  sometimes  came  to  see  his  master. 

"Can  you  get  me  to  Euston  Station  in  twenty  min- 
utes?" 

The  cabman  shook  his  head,  as  he  said — 

"  I'll  do  my  best,  sir,  but  we  ought  to  have  a  good 
half-hour." 

The  driver  did  his  best,  and  landed  Shorcly  on  the 
departure  platform  two  minutes  after  tlie  train  had 
gone. 

"When  is  the  next  train  to  Channor  ? "  demanded 
Shorely  of  a  porter. 

"Just  left,  sir." 

"The  next  train  hasn't  just  left,  you  fool.  Answer 
my  question." 

"  Two  hours  and  twenty  minutes,  sir,"  replied  the 
porter,  in  a  huff. 

Shorely  thought  of  engaging  a  special,  but  realised 
he  hadn't  money  enough.  Perhaps  he  could  telegraph 
and  warn  the  people  of  Channor  Chase,  but  he  did 
not  know  to  whom  to  telegraph.  Or,  again,  he  thought 
he  might  have  Gibberts  arrested  on  some  charge  or 
other  at  Channor  Station.  That,  he  concluded,  was 
the  way  out — dangerous,  but  feasible. 

By  this  time,  however,  the  porter  had  recovered  his 
equanimity.  Porters  cannot  afford  to  cherish  resent- 
ment, and  this  particular  porter  [saw  half  a  crown  in 
the  air, 

"  Did  you  wish  to  reach  Channor  before  the  train 
that's  just  gone,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.     Can  it  be  done  ?  " 

"  It   might  be  done,  sir,"    said   the  porter,  hesitat- 


ll: 


I 


)>    ' 


&  ;IS: 


124 


REVENGE 


ingly,  as  if  [he  were  on  the  verge  of  divulging  a  State 
secret  which  would  cost  him  his  situation.  He  wanted 
the  half-crown  to  become  visible  before  he  committed 
himself  further. 

"  Here's  half  a  sovereign,  if  you  tell  me  how  it  can 
be  done,  short  of  hiring  a  special." 

"  Well,  sir,  you  could  take  the  express  that  leaves 
at  the  half-hour.  It  will  carry  you  fifteen  miles  be- 
yond Channor,  to  Buley  Junction,  then  in  seventeen 
minutes  you  can  get  a  local  back  to  Channor,  which  is 
due  three  minutes  before  the  down  train  reaches  there 
— if  the  local  is  in  time,"  he  added,  when  the  gold 
piece  was  safe  stowed  in  his  pocket. 

While  waiting  for  the  express,  Shorely  bought  a 
copy  of  the  Sponge,  and  once  more  he  read  Gibberts' 
story  on  the  way  down.  The  third  reading  appalled 
him.  He  was  amazed  he  had  not  noticed  before  the 
deadly  earnestness  of  its  tone.  We  are  apt  to  under- 
rate or  overrate  the  work  of  a  man  with  whom  we  are 
personally  familiar. 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Shorely  seemed  to  get  the 
proper  perspective.  The  reading  left  him  in  a  state 
of  nervous  collapse.  He  tried  to  remember  whether 
or  not  he  had  burned  Gibberts*  letter.  If  he  had  left 
it  on  his  table,  anything  might  happen.  It  was 
incriminating  evidence. 

The  local  was  five  minutes  late  at  the  Junction,  and 
it  crawled  over  the  fifteen  miles  back  to  Channor  in 
the  most  exasperating  way,  losing  time  with  every 
mile.  At  Channor  he  found  the  London  train  had 
come  and  gone. 

"  Did  a  man  in  a  long  ulster  get  off,  and " 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBERTS  STORY.      125 

*'  For  Channor  Chase,  sir?  " 

"  Yes.     Has  he  gone  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  sir !  Tlie  dog-cart  from  the  Chase  was 
here  to  meet  him,  sir." 

"  How  far  is  it  ?" 

"  About  five  miles  by  road,  if  you  mean  the  Chase, 
sir. 

"  Can  I  get  a  conveyance  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,  sir.  They  didn't  know  you  were 
coming,  I  suppose,  or  they  would  have  waited ;  but  if 
you  take  the  road  down  by  the  church,  you  can  get 
there  before  the  cart,  sir.  It  isn't  more  than  two 
miles  from  the  church.  You'll  find  the  path  a  bit  dirty, 
I'm  afraid,  sir,  but  not  worse  than  the  road.  You  can't 
miss  the  way,  and  you  can  send  for  your  luggage." 

It  had  been  raining,  and  was  still  drizzling.  A 
strange  path  is  sometimes  difficult  to  follow,  even  in 
broad  daylight,  but  a  wet,  dark  evening  adds  tremen- 
dously to  the  problem.  Shorely  was  a  city  man,  and 
quite  unused  to  the  eccentricities  of  country  lanes 
and  paths. 

He  first  mistook  the  gleaming  surface  of  a  ditch  for 
the  footpath,  and  only  found  his  mistake  when  he  was 
up  to  his  waist  in  water.  The  rain  came  on  heavily 
again,  and  added  to  his  troubles.  After  wandering 
through  muddy  fields  for  some  time,  he  came  to  a 
cottage,  where  he  succeeded  in  securing  a  guide  to 
Channor  Chase. 

The  time  he  had  lost  wandering  in  the  fields  would, 
Shorely  thought,  allow  the  dog-cart  to  arrive  before 
him,  and  such  he  found  to  be  the  case.  The  man  who 
answered  Shorely's   imperious  summons  to  the  door 


126 


RKVENGE 


was  surprised  to  find  a  wild-eyed,  unkempt,  bedraggle*^ 
individual,  who  looked  like  a  lunatic  or  a  tramp. 

*'  Has  Mr.  Bromley  Gibberts  arrived  yet  ? "  he 
asked,  without  preliminary  talk. 

•'  Yes.  sir,"  answered  the  man. 

"  Is  he  in  his  room  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  He  has  just  come  down,  after  dressing, 
and  is  in  the  drawing-room. 

*'  I  must  see  him  at  once,"  gasped  Shorcly.  "It  is 
a  matter  of  life  and  death.  Take  me  to  the  drawing- 
room." 

The  man,  in  some  bewilderment,  led  him  to  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room,  and  Shorely  heard  the 
sound  of  laughter  from  within.  Thus  ever  are  comedy 
and  tragedy  mingled.  The  man  threw  the  door  open, 
and  Shorely  entered.  The  sight  he  beheld  at  first 
dazzled  him,  for  the  room  was  brilliantly  lighted.  He 
saw  a  number  of  people,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  in 
evening  dress,  and  all  looking  towards  the  door,  with 
astonishment  in  their  eyes.  Several  of  them,  he 
noticed,  had  copies  of  the  Sponge  in  their  hands. 
Bromley  Gibberts  stood  before  the  fire,  and  was  very 
evidently  interrupted  in  the  middle  of  a  narration. 

"I  assure  you,"  he  was  saying,  "  that  is  the  only 
way  by  which  a  story  of  the  highest  class  can  be  solcf 
to  a  London  editor." 

He  stopped  as  he  said  this,  and  turned  to  look  at 
the  intruder.  It  was  a  moment  or  two  before  he 
recognised  the  dapper  editor  in  the  bedraggled  indi- 
vidual who  stood,  abashed,  at  the  door. 

"  By  the  gods !  "  he  exclaimed,  waving  his  hands. 
"  Speak  of  the  editor,  and  he  appears.     In  the  name 


THE  BROMLEY  GIBBER  IS  STORY.      12; 


of  all  that's  wonderful,  Shorely,  how  did  you  come 
here?  Have  your  deeds  at  last  found  you  out? 
Have  they  ducked  you  in  a  horse-pond  ?  I  have  just 
been  telling  my  friends  here  how  I  sold  you  that  story, 
which  is  making  the  fortume  of  the  Sponge.  Come 
forward,  and  show  yourself,  Shorely,  my  boy." 

"  I  would  like  a  word  with  you,"  stammered 
Shorely. 

"  Then,  have  it  here,"  said  the  novelist.  "  They  all 
understand  the  circumstances.  Come  and  tell  them 
your  side  of  the  story." 

"I  warn  you,"  said  Shorely,  pulling  himself  to- 
gether, and  addressing  the  company,  "  that  this  man 
contemplates  a  dreadful  crime,  and  I  have  come  here 
to  prevent  it." 

Gibberts  threw  back  his  head,  and  laughed  loudly. 

'*  Search  me,"  he  cried.  "  I  am  entirely  unarmed, 
and,  as  every  one  here  knows,  among  my  best  friends." 

'*  Goodness  !  "  said  one  old  lady.  '*  You  don't  mean 
to  say  that  Channor  Chase  is  the  scene  of  your  story, 
and  where  the  tragedy  was  to  take  place?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  cried  Gibberts,  gleefully.  *'  Didn't 
you  recognise  the  local  colour?  I  thought  I  described 
Channor  Chase  down  to  the  ground,  and  did  I  not  tell 
you  you  were  all  my  victims?  I  always  forget  some 
important  detail  when  telling  a  story.  Don't  go  yet," 
he  said,  as  Shorely  turned  away;  **but  tell  your  story, 
then  we  will  have  each  man's  narrative,  after  the  style 
of  Wilkie  ColHns." 

But  Shorely  had  had  enough,  and,  in  spite  of  press- 
ing invitations  to  remain,  he  departed  out  into  the 
night,  cursing  the  eccentricities  of  literary  men. 


n 


m 


1 1 1 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE. 


n 


II 


ml 
mi 

M 
m 


Even  a  stranger  to  the  big  town  walking  for  the 
first  time  through  London,  sees  on  the  sides  of  the 
houses  many  names  with  which  he  has  long  been  famil- 
iar. His  precognition  has  cost  the  firms  those  names 
represent  much  money  in  advertising.  The  stranger 
has  had  the  names  before  him  for  years  in  newspapers 
and  magazines,  on  the  hoardings  and  boards  by  the 
railway  side,  paying  little  heed  to  them  at  the  time ; 
yet  they  have  been  indelibly  impressed  on  his  brain, 
and  when  he  wishes  soap  or  pills  his  lips  almost  auto- 
matically frame  the  words  most  familiar  to  them.  Thus 
are  the  lavish  sums  spent  in  advertising  justified,  and 
thus  are  many  excellent  publication^,  made  possible. 

When  you  come  to  ponder  over  the  matter,  it  seems 
strange  that  there  should  ever  be  any  real  man  behind 
the  names  so  lavishly  advertised  ;  that  there  should  be 
a  genuine  Smith  or  Jones  whose  justly  celebrated 
medicines  work  such  wonders,  or  whose  soap  will  clean 
even  a  guilty  conscience.  Granting  the  actual  existence 
of  these  persons  and  probing  still  further  into  the 
mystery,  can  any  one  imagine  that  the  excellent  Smith 
to  whom  thousands  of  former  sufferers  send  entirely 
unsolicited  testimonials,  or  the  admirable  Jones  whom 
prima  donnas  love  because  his  soap  preserves   their 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE.       129 


dainty  complexions — can  any  one  credit  the  fact  that 
Smith  and  Jones  have  passions  like  other  men,  have 
hatreds,  likes  and  dislikes  ? 

Such  a  condition  of  things,  incredible  as  it  may 
appear  exists  in  London.  There  are  men  in  the 
metropolis,  utterly  unknown  personally,  whose  names 
are  more  widely  spread  over  the  earth  than  the  names 
of  the  greatest  novelists,  living  or  dead,  and  these  men 
have  feeling  and  form  like  unto  ourselves. 

There  was  the  firm  of  Danby  and  Strong  for  in- 
stance. The  name  may  mean  nothing  to  any  reader 
of  these  pages,  but  there  was  a  time  when  it  was  well- 
known  and  widely  advertised,  not  only  in  England  but 
over  the  greater  part  of  the  world  as  well.  They  did 
a  great  business,  as  every^firm  that  spends  a  fortune 
every  year  in  advertising  is  bound  to  do.  It  was  in 
the  old  paper-collar  days.  There  actually  was  a  time 
when  the  majority  of  men  wore  paper  collars,  and, 
when  you  come  to  think  of  it,  the  wonder  is  that  the 
paper-collar  trade  ever  fell  away  as  it  did,  when  you 
consider  with  what  vile  laundries  Eondon  is  and 
always  has  been  cursed.  Take  the  Danby  and  Strong 
collars  for  instance,  advertised  as  being  so  similiar  to 
linen  that  only  an  expert  could  tell  the  difference. 
That  was  was  Strong's  invention.  Before  he  invented 
the  Piccadilly  collar  so-called,  paper  collars  had  a  brill- 
iant glaze  that  would  not  have  deceived  the  most 
recent  arrival  from  the  most  re.iiote  shire  in  the  coun- 
try. Strong  devised  some  method  by  which  a  slight 
linen  film  was  put  on  the  paper,  adding  strength  to 
the  collar  and  giving  it  the  appearance  of  the  genuine 
article.     You   bought  a    pasteboard  box  containing  a 


m 


130 


REVENGE! 


If 


dozen  of  these  collars  for  something  like  the  price  3/ou 
paid  for  the  washing  of  half  a  dozen  linen  ones.  The 
Danby  and  Strong  Piccadilly  collar  jumped  at  once 
into  great  popularity,  and  the  wonder  is  that  the 
linen  collar  ever  recovered  from  the  blow  dealt  it  by 
this  ingenious  invention. 

Curiously  enough,  during  the  time  the  firm  was 
struggling  to  establish  itself,  the  two  members  of  it 
were  the  best  of  friends,  but  when  prosperity  came  to 
them,  causes  of  difference  arose,  and  their  relations, 
as  the  papers  say  of  warlike  nations,  became  strained. 
Whether  the  fault  lay  with  John  Danby  or  with 
William  Strong  no  one  has  ever  been  able  to  find  out. 
They  had  mutual  friends  who  claimed  that  each  one 
of  them  wa<j  a  good  fellow,  but  those  friends  always 
added  that  Strong  and  Danby  did  not  "  hit  it 
off." 

Strong  was  a  bitter  man  when  aroused,  and  could 
generally  be  counted  upon  to  use  harsh  language. 
Danby  was  quieter,  but  there  was  a  sullen  streak  of 
stubbornness  in  him  that  did  not  tend  to  the  making 
up  of  a  quarrel.  They  had  been  past  the  speaking 
point  for  more  than  a  year,  when  there  came  a  crisis 
in  their  relations  with  each  other,  that  ended  in  di- 
saster to  the  business  carried  on  under  the  title  of 
Danby  and  Strong.  Neither  man  would  budge,  and 
between  them  the  business  sunk  to  ruin.  Where  com- 
petition is  fierce  no  firm  can  stand  against  it  if  there 
is  internal  dissension.  Danby  held  his  ground  quietly 
but  firmly,  Strong  raged  and  cursed,  but  was  equally 
steadfast  in  not  yielding  a  point.  Each  hated  the 
other  so  bitterly  that  each  was  willing  to  lose  his  own 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE.       i;i 


ing 
king 
:nsis 
n  di- 
e   of 
and 
com- 
herc 
ietly 
ually 
the 
own 


bliaie  in  a  profitable  business,  if  by  doing  so  he  could 
bring  ruin  on  his  partner. 

We  are  all  rather  prone  to  be  misled  by  appearances. 
^\s  one  walks  down  Piccadilly,  or  the  Strand,  or  Fleet 
Street  and  meets  numerous  irreproachably  dressed 
men  with  glossy  tall  hats  and  polished  boots,  with 
affable  manners  and  a  courteous  way  of  deporting 
themselves  toward  their  fellows,  we  are  apt  to  fall  into 
the  fallacy  of  believing  that  these  gentlemen  are 
civilised.  We  fail  to  realise  that  if  you  probe  in  the 
right  direction  you  will  come  upon  possibilities  of 
savagery  that  would  draw  forth  the  warmest  commen- 
dation from  a  Pawnee  Indian.  There  are  reputable 
business  men  in  London  who  would,  if  they  dared,  tie 
an  enemy  to  a  stake  and  roast  him  over  a  slow  fire,  and 
these  men  have  succeeded  so  well,  not  only  in  deceiv- 
ing their  neighbours,  but  also  themselves,  that  they 
would  actually  be  offended  if  you  told  them  so.  If  law 
were  suspended  in  London  for  one  day,  during  which 
time  none  of  us  would  be  held  answerable  for  any 
deed  then  done,  how  many  of  us  would  be  alive  next 
morning?  Most  of  us  would  go  out  to  pot  some 
favourite  enemy,  and  would  doubtless  be  potted  our- 
selves before  we  got  safely  home  again. 

The  law,  however,  is  a  great  restrainer,  and  helps  to 
keep  the  death-rate  from  reaching  excessive  propor- 
tioni>.  One  department  of  the  law  crushed  out  the 
remnant  of  the  business  of  Messrs.  Danby  and  Strong, 
leaving  the  firm  bankrupt,  while  another  department 
of  the  law  prevented  either  of  the  partners  taking  the 
life  of  the  other. 

When  Strong  found  himself  penniless,  he   cursed, 


m 


mi 


mi 


i  ■,; 


1  pi 


132 


REVENGE! 


as  was  his  habit,  and  wrote  to  a  friend  in  Texas  asking 
if  he  could  get  anything  to  do  over  there.  He  was 
tired  of  a  country  of  law  and  order,  he  said,  which 
was  not  as  complimentary  to  Texas  as  it  might  have 
been.  But  his  remark  only  goes  to  show  what  ex- 
traordinary ideas  Englishmen  have  of  foreign  parts. 
The  friend's  answer  was  not  very  encouraging,  but, 
nevertheless,  Strong  got  himself  out  there  somehow, 
aud  in  course  of  time  became  a  cowboy.  He  grew 
reasonably  expert  with  his  revolver  and  rode  a 
mustang  as  well  as  could  be  expected,  considering 
that  he  had  never  seen  such  an  animal  in  London, 
even  at  the  Zoo.  The  life  of  a  cowboy  on  a  Texas 
ranch  leads  to  the  forgetting  of  such  things  as  linen 
shirts  and  paper  collars. 

Strong's  hatred  of  Danby  never  ceased,  but  he  be- 
gan to  think  of  him  less  often. 

One  day,  when  he  least  expected  it,  the  subject  was 
brought  to  his  mind  in  a  manner  that  startled  him. 
He  was  in  Galveston  ordering  supplies  for  the  ranch, 
when  in  passing  a  shop  which  he  would  have  called  a 
draper's,  but  which  was  there  designated  as  dealing  in 
in  dry  goods,  he  was  amazed  to  see  the  name  *'  Danby 
and  Strong "  in  big  letters  at  the  bottom  of  a  huge 
pile  of  small  cardboard  boxes  that  filled  the  whole 
window.  At  first  the  name  merely  struck  him  as 
familiar,  and  he  came  near  asking  himself  "  Where 
have  I  seen  that  before  ? "  It  was  some  moments 
before  he  realised  that  the  Strong  stood  for  the  man 
gazing  stupidly  in  at  the  plate-glass  window.  Then 
he  noticed  that  the  boxes  were  all  guaranteed  to  con- 
tain the  famous  Piccadilly  collar.     He  read  in  a  dazed 


h 


ing 
was 
lich 
lave 
ex- 
arts, 
but, 
tiow, 
yrcw 
de  a 
2  ring 
idon, 
.^exas 
linen 

le  be- 

:t  was 
him. 
ranch, 
led  a 
ing  in 
Danby 
huge 
whole 
mi   as 
Where 
Dments 
le  man 
Then 
to  con- 
t\  dazed 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE.       133 

manner  a  large  printed  bill  which  stood  beside  the 
pile  of  boxes.  These  collars,  it  seemed,  were  war- 
ranted to  be  the  genuine  Danby  and  Strong  collar, 
and  the  public  was  warned  against  imitations.  They 
were  asserted  to  be  London  made  and  linen  faced,  and 
the  gratifying  information  was  added  that  once  a 
person  wore  the  D.  and  L^  rollar  he  never  afterwards 
relapsed  into  wearing  any  inferior  brand.  The  price 
of  each  box  was  fifteen  cents,  or  two  boxes  for  a 
quarter.  Strong  found  himself  making  a  mental  cal- 
culation which  resulted  in  turning  this  notation  into 
English  money. 

As  he  stood  there  a  new  interest  began  to  fill  his 
mind.  Was  the  firm  being  carried  on  under  the  old 
name  by  some  one  else,  or  did  this  lot  of  collars  rep- 
resent part  of  the  old  stock  ?  He  had  had  no  news 
from  home  since  he  left,  and  the  bitter  thought  oc- 
curred to  him  that  perhaps  Danby  had  got  somebody 
with  capital  to  aid  him  in  resuscitating  the  business. 
He  resolved  to  go  inside  and  get  some  informa- 
tion. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  very  large  stock  of  those  col- 
lars on  hand,"  he  said  to  the  man  who  was  evidently 
the  proprietor. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "  You  see,  we  are  the 
State  agents  for  this  make.  We  supply  the  country 
dealers." 

"  Oh,  do  you  ?  Is  the  firm  of  Danby  and  Strong 
still  in  existence?     I  u'^'erstood  it  had  suspended." 

"  I  guess  not,"  said  the  man.  ''They  supply  us  all 
right  enough.  Still,  I  really  know  nothing  about  the 
firm,    except    that  they  turn  out  a    first-class   article. 


i 


111 


^    I. 


^:f 


w. 


if  n 

I 


w^ 


f^iiiu^iii^'mmi^mmmsm 


I 


• 


IH 


134 


REVENGE! 


We're  not  in  any  way  responsible  for  Danby  and 
Strong;  we're  merely  agents  for  the  State  of  Texas, 
you  know,"  the  man  added,  with  sudden  caution. 

"  I  have  nothing  against  the  firm,"  said  Strong. 
"  I  asked  because  I  once  knew  some  members  of  it, 
and  was  wondering  how  it  was  getting  along." 

"Well,  in  that  case  you  ought  to  see  the  American 
representative.  He  was  here  this  week  .  .  .  that's 
why  we  make  such  a  display  in  the  window,  it  always 
pleases  the  agent  .  ,  .  he's  now  working  up  the  State 
and  will  be  back  in  Galveston  before  the  month  is 
out." 

'*  What's  his  name?     Do  you  remember?" 

"  Danby.  George  Danby,  I  think.  Here's  his  card. 
No,  John  Danby  is  the  name.  I  thought  it  was 
George.     Most  Englishmen  are  George,  you  know." 

Strong  looked  at  the  card,  but  the  lettering  seemed 
to  waver  before  his  eyes.  He  made  out,  however, 
that  Mr.  John  Danby  had  an  address  in  New  York, 
and  that  he  was  the  American  representative  of  the 
firm  of  Danby  and  Strong,  London.  Strong  placed 
the  card  on  the  counter  before  him. 

*'  I  used  to  know  Mr.  Danby,  and  J  would  like  to 
meet  him.     Where  do  you  think  I  could  find  him  ?  " 

**  Well,  as  I  said  before,  you  could  see  him  right 
here  in  Galveston  if  you  wait  a  month,  but  if  you  are 
in  a  hurry  you  might  catch  him  at  Broncho  Junction 
on  Thursday  night." 

"  He  is  travelling  by  rail  then  ?  " 

"  No,  he  is  not.  He  went  by  rail  as  far  as  ^elix- 
opolis.  There  he  takes  a  horse,  and  goes  across  the 
prairies  to  Broncho  Junction  ;  a  three  days'  journey. 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE.       135 


nd 

:as, 

ng. 
[it, 

can 
lat's 
^ays 
tate 
;h  is 


card. 

was 
»» 

emed 
ever, 
ork, 
f  the 
laced 

Ike  to 

?" 

right 
)u  are 
iction 


Felix- 
5S  the 
lirney. 


I  told  him  he  wouldn't  do  much  business  on  that 
route,  but  he  said  he  was  going  partly  for  his  health, 
and  partly  to  see  the  country.  He  expected  to  reach 
Broncho  Thursday  night."  The  dry  goods  merchant 
laughed  as  one  who  suddenly  remembers  a  pleasant 
circumstance.     **  You're  an  Englishman,  I  take  it." 

Strong  nodded. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you  folks  have  queer  notions 
about  this  country.  Danby,  who  was  going  for  a 
three  days'  journey  across  the  plains,  bought  himself 
two  Colts  revolvers,  and  a  knife  half  as  long  as  my 
arm.  Now  I've  travelled  all  over  this  State,  and 
never  carried  a  gun,  but  I  couldn't  get  Danby  to  be- 
lieve his  route  was  as  safe  as  a  church.  Of  course, 
now  and  then  in  Texas  a  cowboy  shoots  off  his  gun, 
but  it's  more  often  his  mouth,  and  I  don't  believe 
there's  more  killing  done  in  Texas  than  in  any  other 
bit  of  land  the  same  size.  But  you  can't  get  an  Eng- 
lishman to  believe  that.  You  folks  are  an  awful  law- 
abiding  crowd.  For  my  part  I  would  sooner  stand 
my  chance  with  a  revolver  than  a  lawsuit  any  day." 
Then  the  good-natured  Texan  told  the  story  of  the 
pistol  in  Texas ;  of  the  general  lack  of  demand  for  it, 
but  the  great  necessity  of  having  it  handy  when  it  was 
called  for. 

A  man  with  murder  in  his  heart  should  not  hold  a 
conversation  like  this,  but  William  Strong  was  too 
full  of  one  idea  to  think  of  prudence.  Such  a  talk 
sets  the  hounds  of  justice  en  the  right  trail,  with  un- 
pleasant results  for  the  criminal. 

On  Thursday  morning  Strong  set  out  on  horse-back 
from  Broncho  Junction  with  his  face  towards  Felixop- 


«fi!!l 


REVENGE! 


olis.  By  noon  he  said  to  himself  he  ought  to  meet 
his  former  partner  with  nothing  but  the  horizon 
around  them.  Besides  the  revolvers  in  his  belt,  Strong 
had  a  Winchester  rifle  in  front  of  him.  He  did  not 
know  but  he  might  have  to  shoot  at  long  range,  and  it 
was  always  well  to  prepare  for  eventualities.  Twelve 
o'clock  came,  but  he  met  no  one,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing in  sight  around  the  empty  circle  of  the  horizon. 
It  was  nearly  two  before  he  saw  a  moving  dot  ahead 
of  him..  Danby  was  evidently  unused  to  riding  and 
had  come  leisurely.  Some  time  before  they  met, 
Strong  recognised  his  former  partner  and  he  got  his 
rifle  ready. 

"Throw  up  your  hands!  "  he  shouted,  bringing  his 
rifle  butt  to  his  shoulder. 

Danby  instantly  raised  his  hands  above  his  head. 
"  I  have  no  money  on  me,"  he  cried,  evidently  not 
recognising  his  opponent.  "  You  may  search  me 
if  you  like." 

"  Get  down  off  your  horse ;  don't  lower  your  hands, 
or  I  fire." 

Danby  got  down,  as  well  as  he  could,  with  his  hands 
above  his  head.  Strong  had  thrown  his  right  leg 
over  to  the  left  side  of  the  horse,  and,  as  his  enemy 
got  down,  he  also  slid  to  the  ground,  keeping  Danby 
covered  with  the  rifle. 

"  I  assure  you  I  have  only  a  few  dollars  with  me, 
which  you  are  quite  welcome  to,"  said  Danby. 

Strong  did  not  answer.  Seeing  that  the  firing  was 
to  be  at  short  range,  he  took  a  six-shooter  from  his 
belt,  and,  cocking  it,  covered  his  man,  throwing  the 
rifle    on    the   grass.     He   walked    up   to   his    enemy, 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE. 


J/ 


inas 
lei: 


by 


m 


me, 


was 
his 
the 
lemv, 


placed  the  muzzle  of  the  revolver  against  his  rapidly 
beating  heart,  and  leisurely  disarmed  him,  throwing 
Danby's  weapons  on  the  ground  out  of  reach.  Then 
he  stood  back  a  few  paces  and  looked  at  the  trembling 
man.  His  face  seemed  to  have  already  taken  on  the 
hue  of  death  and  his  lips  were  bloodless. 

"  I  see  you  recognise  me  at  last,  Mr.  Danby.  This 
is  an  unexpected  meeting,  is  it  not  ?  You  realise,  I 
hope,  that  there  are  here  no  judges,  juries,  nor  law- 
yers, no  viandamuscs  and  no  appeals.  Nothing  but  a 
writ  of  ejectment  from  the  barrel  of  a  pistol  and  no 
legal  way  of  staying  the  proceedings.  In  other  words, 
no  cursed  quibbles  and  no  damned  law." 

Danby,  after  several  times  moistening  his  pallid  lips, 
found  his  voice. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  give  me  a  chance,  or  are  you 
going  to  murder  me  ?  " 

*'  I  am  going  to  murder  you." 

Danby  closed  his  eyes,  let  his  hands  drop  to  his 
sides,  and  swayed  gently  from  side  to  side  as  a  man 
does  on  the  scaffold  just  before  the  bolt  is  drawn. 
Strong  lowered  his  revolver  and  fired,  shattering  one 
knee  of  the  doomed  man.  Danby  dropped  with  a 
cry  that  was  drowned  by  the  second  report.  The 
second  bu'V  t  put  out  his  left  eye,  and  the  murdered 
man  lay  with  his  mutilated  face  turned  up  to  the 
blue  sky. 

A  revolver  report  on  the  prairies  is  short,  sharp, 
and  echoless.  The  silence  that  followed  seemed  in- 
tense and  boundless,  as  if  nowhere  on  earth  there  was 
such  a  thing  as  sound.  The  man  on  his  back  gave 
an  awesome  touch  of  the  eternal  to  the  stillness. 


if , 


138 


REVENGE! 


Strong,  now  that  it  was  all  over,  began  to  realise 
his  position.  Texas,  perhaps,  paid  too  little  heed  to 
life  lost  in  fair  fight,  but  she  had  an  uncomfortable 
habit  of  putting  a  rope  round  the  neck  of  a  cowardly 
murderer.  Strong  was  an  inventor  by  nature.  He 
proceeded  to  invent  his  justification.  He  took  one 
of  Danby's  revolvers  and  fired  two  shots  out  of  it  into 
the  empty  air.  This  would  show  that  the  dead  man 
had  defended  himself  at  least,  and  it  would  be  difficult 
to  prove  that  he  had  not  been  the  first  to  fire.  He 
placed  the  other  pistol  and  the  knife  in  their  places 
in  Danby's  belt.  He  took  Danby's  right  hand  while 
it  was  still  warm  and  closed  the  fingers  around  the 
butt  of  the  revolver  from  which  he  had  fired,  placing 
the  forefinger  on  the  trigger  of  the  cocked  six-shooter. 
To  give  effect  and  naturalness  to  the  tableau  he  was 
arranging  for  the  benefit  of  the  next  traveller  by  that 
trail,  he  drew  up  the  right  knee  and  put  revolver  and 
closed  hand  on  it  as  if  Danby  had  been  killed  while 
just  about  to  fire  his  third  shot. 

Strong,  with  the  pride  of  a  true  artist  in  his  work, 
stepped  back  a  pace  or  two  for  the  purpose  of  seeing 
the  effect  of  his  work  as  a  whole.  As  Danby  fell,  the 
back  of  his  head  had  struck  a  lump  of  soil  or  a  tuft  of 
grass  which  threw  the  chin  forward  on  the  breast. 
As  Strong  looked  at  his  victim  his  heart  jumped,  and 
a  sort  of  hypnotic  fear  took  possession  of  him  and 
paralysed  action  at  its  source.  Danby  was  not  yet 
dead.  His  right  eye  was  open,  and  it  glared  at 
Strong  with  a  malice  and  hatred  that  mesmerised  the 
murderer  and  held  him  there,  although  he  felt  rather 
than  knew  he  was  covered  by  the  cocked  revolver  he 


NOT  ACCORDING  TO  THE  CODE.       139 

had  placed  in  what  he  thought  was  a  dead  hand. 
Danby's  lips  moved  but  no  sound  came  from  them. 
Strong  could  not  take  his  fascinated  gaze  from  the 
open  eye.  He  knew  he  was  a  dead  man  if  Danby 
had  strength  to  crook  his  finger,  yet  he  could  not 
take  the  leap  that  would  bring  him  out  of  range. 
The  fifth  pisi:ol-shot  rang  out  and  Strong  pitched  for- 
ward on  his  face. 

The  firm  of  Danby  and  Strong  was  dissolved. 


:he 
of 
ist. 
Lnd 
md 


at 
Ithe 
Iher 

he 


I 


i!:"r 


A  MODERN  SAMSON. 

A  LITTLE  more  and  Jean  Rasteaux  would  have 
been  a  giant.  Brittany  men  are  small  as  a  rule,  but 
Jean  was  an  exception.  He  was  a  powerful  young 
fellow  who,  up  to  the  time  he  was  compelled  to  enter 
the  army,  had  spent  his  life  in  dragging  heavy  nets 
over  the  sides  of  a  boat.  He  knew  the  Brittany  coast, 
rugged  and  indented  as  it  is,  as  well  as  he  knew  the 
road  from  the  little  cafe  on  the  square  ^^o  the  dwelling 
of  his  father  on  the  hillside  overlooking  the  sea. 
Never  before  had  he  been  out  of  sound  of  the  waves. 
He  was  a  man  who,  like  Hcrve  Riel,^might  have  saved 
the  fleet,  but  France,  with  the  usual  good  sense  of 
officialism,  sent  this  man  of  the  coast  into  the  moun- 
tains, and  Jean  Rasteaux  became  a  soldier  in  the 
Alpine  Corps.  If  he  stood  on  the  highest  mountain 
peak,  Jean  might  look  over  illimitable  wastes  of  snow, 
but  he  could  catch  neither  sound  nor  sight  of  the 
sea. 

Men  who  mix  with  mountains  become  as  rough  and 
rugged  as  the  rocks,  and  the  Alpine  Corps  was  a  wild 
body,  harsh  and  brutal.  Punishment  in  the  ranks  was 
swift  and  terrible,  for  the  corps  was  situated  far  from 
any  oi  the  civilising  things  of  modern  life,  and  deeds 
were  done  which  the  world  knew  not  of ;  deeds  which 


A  MODERN  SAMSON. 


141 


and 
wild 
was 
Ifrom 
leeds 
,'hich 


would  not  have  becti   approved   if  reported  at  head- 
quarters. 

The  regiment  of  which  Jean  became  a  unit  was 
stationed  in  a  high  valley  that  had  but  one  outlet,  a 
wild  pass  down  which  a  mountain  river  roared  and 
foamed  and  tossed.  The  narrow  path  by  the  side  of 
this  stream  was  the  only  way  out  of  or  into  the  valley, 
for  all  around,  the  little  plateau  was  walled  in  by  im- 
mense peaks  of  everlasting  snow,  dazzling  in  the  sun- 
light, and  luminous  even  in  the  still,  dark  nights. 
From  the  peaks  to  the  south,  Italy  might  have  been 
seen,  but  no  man  had  ever  dared  to  climb  any  of  them. 
The  angry  little  river  was  fed  from  a  glacier  whose 
blue  breast  lay  sparkling  in  the  sunshine  to  the 
south,  and  the  stream  circumnavigated  the  enclosed 
plateau,  as  if  trying  to  find  an  outlet  for  its  tossing 
waters. 

Jean  was  terribly  lonely  in  these  dreary  and  unac- 
customed solitudes.  The  white  mountains  awed  him, 
and  the  mad  roar  of  the  river  seemed  but  poor  com- 
pensation for  the  dignified  measured  thunder  of  the 
waves  on  the  broad  sands  of  the  Brittany  coast. 

But  Jean  was  a  good-natured  giant,  and  he  strove 
to  do  whatever  was  required  of  him.  He  was  not 
quick  at  repartee,  and  the  men  mocked  his  Breton  dia- 
lect. He  became  the  butt  for  all  their  small  and  often 
mean  jokes,  and  from  the  first  he  was  very  miserable, 
for,  added  to  his  yearning  for  the  sea,  whose  steady 
roar  he  heard  in  his  dreams  at  night,  he  felt  the  utter 
lack  of  all  human  sympathy. 

At  first  he  endeavoured,  by  unfailing  good  nature 
and  prompt   obedience,  to  win  the  regard  of  his  fel- 


m  1 .' 


I 


143 


REVENGE 


I  If  I 
ir 


li 


:!  i 


lows,  and  he  became  in  a  measure  the  slave  of  the 
regiment ;  but  the  more  he  tried  to  please  the  more 
his  burden  increased,  and  the  greater  were  the  insults 
he  was  compelled  to  bear  from  both  ofificers  and  men. 
It  was  so  easy  to  bully  this  giant,  whom  they  nick- 
named Samson,  that  even  the  smallest  men  in  the 
regiment  felt  at  liberty  to  swear  at  him  or  cuff  him  if 
necessary. 

But  at  last  Samson's  good  nature  seemed  to  be 
wearing  out.  His  stock  was  becoming  exhausted,  and 
his  comrades  forgot  that  the  Bretons  for  hundreds  of 
years  have  been  successful  fighters,  and  that  the  blood 
of  contention  flows  in  their  veins. 

Although  the  Alpine  Corps,  as  a  general  thing, 
contain  the  largest  and  strongest  men  in  the  French 
Army,  yet  the  average  French  soldier  may  be  termed 
undersized  when  compared  with  the  military  of  either 
England  or  Germany.  There  were  several  physically 
small  men  in  the  regiment,  and  one  of  these,  like  a 
diminutive  gnat,  was  Samson's  worst  persecutor.  As 
there  was  no  other  man  in  the  regiment  whom  the  gnat 
could  bully,  Samson  received  more  than  even  he  could 
be  expected  to  bear.  One  day  the  gnat  ordered  Sam- 
son to  bring  him  a  pail  of  water  from  the  stream,  and 
the  big  man  unhesitatingly  obeyed.  He  spilled  some 
of  it  coming  up  the  bank,  and  when  he  delivered  it  to 
the  little  man,  the  latter  abused  him  for  not  bringing 
the  pail  full,  and  as  several  of  the  larger  soldiers,  who 
had  all  in  their  turn  made  Samson  miserable,  were 
standing  about,  the  little  man  picked  up  the  pail  of 
water  and  dashed  it  into  Samson's  face.  It  was  such 
a  good  opportunity  for  showing  off  before   the   big 


A   MUUERX  SAMSOX, 


U. 


men,  who  removed  their  pipes  from  their  mouths  and 
laughed  loudly  as  Samson  with  his  knuckles  tried  to 
take  the  water  out  of  his  eyes.  Then  Samson  did  an 
astonishing  thing. 

"You  miserable,  little  insignificant  rat,"  he  cried. 
"  I  could  crush  you,  but  you  are  not  worth  it.  But  to 
show  you  that  I  am  not  afraid  of  any  of  you,  there, 
and  there  ! " 

As  he  said  these  two  words  with  emphasis,  he  struck 
out  from  the  shoulder,  not  at  the  little  man,  but  at 
the  two  biggest  men  in  the  regiment,  and  felled  them 
like  logs  to  the  ground. 

A  cry  of  rage  went  up  from  their  comrades,  but 
bullies  are  cowards  at  heart,  and  while  Samson  glared 
around  at  them,  no  one  made  a  move. 

The  matter  was  reported  to  the  offlcer,  and  Samson 
was  placed  under  arrest..  When  the  inquiry  was  held 
the  ofificer  expressed  his  astonishment  at  the  fact  that 
Samson  hit  two  men  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
insult  he  had  received,  while  the  real  culprit  had  been 
allowed  to  go  unpunished. 

"They  deserved  it,"  said  Samson,  sullenly,  "for 
what  they  had  done  before.  I  could  not  strike  the 
little  man.     I  should  have  killed  him." 

"Silence!"  cried  the  of^cer.  "You  must  not  an- 
swer me  like  that." 

"  I  shall  answer  you  as  I  like,"  said  Samson,  dog- 
gedly. 

The  of^cer  sprang  to  his  feet,  with  a  lithe  rattan 
cane  in  his  hand,  and  struck  the  insubordinate  soldier 
twice  across  the  face,  each  time  raising  an  angry  red 
mark. 


%  r 


I  ::  ^ 


I    :  N 
■    •  I! 


J 

illtj; 


il9h 


144 


REVENGE 


Before  the  guards  had  time  to  interfere,  Samson 
sprang  upon  the  officer,  lifted  him  like  a  child  above 
his  head,  and  dashed  him  with  a  sickening  crash  to 
the  ground,  where  he  lay  motionless. 

A  cry  of  horror  went  up  from  every  one  present. 

'*  I  have  had  enough,"  cried  Samson,  turning  to  go, 
but  he  was  met  by  a  bristling  hedge  of  steel.  He  was 
like  a  rat  in  a  trap.  He  stood  defiantly  there,  a  man 
maddened  by  oppression,  and  glared  around  help- 
lessly. 

Whatever  might  have  been  his  punishment  for 
striking  his  comrades,  there  was  no  doubt  now  about 
his  fate.  The  guard-house  was  a  rude  hut  of  logs 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  roaring  stream.  Into 
this  room  Samson  was  flung,  bound  hand  and  foot,  to 
await  the  court-martial  next  day.  The  shattered 
officer,  whose  sword  had  broken  in  pieces  under  him, 
slowly  revived  and  was  carried  to  his  quarters.  A 
sentry  marched  up  and  down  all  night  before  the 
guard-house. 

In  the  morning,  when  Samson  was  sent  for,  the 
guard-house  was  found  to  be  empty.  The  huge  Breton 
had  broken  his  bonds  as  did  Samson  of  old.  He  had 
pushed  out  a  log  of  wood  from  the  wall,  and  had 
squeezed  himself  through  to  the  bank  of  the  stream. 
There  all  trace  of  him  was  lost.  If  he  had  fallen  in, 
then  of  course  he  had  sentenced  and  executed  him- 
self, but  in  the  mud  near  the  water  were  great  foot- 
prints which  no  boot  but  that  of  Samson  could  have 
made ;  so  if  he  were  in  the  stream  it  must  have  been 
because  he  threw  himself  there.  The  trend  of  the 
footprints,  however,  indicated  that  he  had  climbed  on 


A  MODERN  SAMSON. 


145 


the 

the 
eton 
had 
had 
earn, 
n  in, 
him- 
foot- 
have 
been 
the 
\(\  on 


the  rocks,  and  there,  of  course,  it  was  impossible  to 
trace  him.  The  sentries  who  guarded  the  pass  main- 
tained t'^it  no  one  had  ^one  through  during  the  night, 
but  to  make  sure  several  men  were  sent  down  the  path 
to  overtake  the  runaway.  Even  if  he  reached  a  town 
or  a  village  far  below,  so  huge  a  man  could  not  escape 
notice.  The  searchers  were  instructed  to  telegraph 
his  description  and  his  crime  as  soon  as  they  reached 
a  telegraph  wire.  It  was  impossible  to  hide  in  the 
valley,  and  a  rapid  search  speedily  convinced  the  offi- 
cers that  the  delinquent  was  not  there. 

As  the  sun  rose  higher  and  higher,  until  it  began 
to  shine  even  on  the  northward-facing  snow  fields,  a 
sharp-eyed  private  reported  that  he  saw  a  black  speck 
moving  high  up  on  the  great  white  slope  south  of  the 
valley.  The  officer  called  for  a  field-glass,  and  placing 
it  to  his  eyes,  examined  the  snow  carefully. 

"  Call  out  a  detachment,"  he  said,  *'  that  is  Samson 
on  the  mountain." 

There  was  a  great  stir  in  the  camp  when  the  truth 
became  known.  Emissaries  were  sent  after  the  search- 
ers down  the  pass,  calling  them  to  return. 

''  He  thinks  to  get  to  Italy,"  said  the  officer.  "  I 
did  not  imagine  the  fool  knew  so  much  of  geography. 
We  have  him  now  secure  enough." 

The  officer  who  had  been  flung  over  Samson's  head 
was  now  able  to  hobble  about,  and  he  was  exceed- 
ingly bitter.  Shading  his  eyes  and  gazing  at  the  snow, 
he  said — 

"  A  good  marksman  ought  to  be  able  to  bring  him 
down." 

*' There   is  no   need  of  that,"  replied  his  su])erior. 


11 

■i  i 


-^■1 


146 


REVENGE! 


"  He  cannot  escape.  We  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
wait  for  him.     He  will  have  to  come  down." 

All  of  which  was  perfectly  true. 

A  detachment  crossed  the  stream  and  stacked  its 
arms  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  which  Samson  was 
trying  to  climb.  There  was  a  small  level  place  a  few 
yards  wide  between  the  bottom  of  the  hill  and  the 
bank  of  the  raging  stream.  On  this  bit  of  level 
ground  the  soldiers  lay  in  the  sun  and  smoked,  while 
the  officers  stood  in  a  group  and  watched  the  climbing 
man  going  steadily  upward. 

For  a  short  distance  up  from  the  plateau  there  was 
stunted  grass  and  moss,  with  dark  points  of  rock  pro- 
truding from  the  scant  soil.  Above  that  again  was  a 
breadth  of  dirty  snow  which,  now  that  the  sun  was 
strong,  sent  little  tricklin^^  streams  down  to  the  river. 
From  there  to  the  long  ridge  of  the  mountain  extended 
upwards  the  vast  smooth  slope  of  virgin  snow,  pure 
and  white,  sparkling  in  the  strong  sunlight  as  if  it  had 
been  sprinkled  with  diamond  dust.  A  black  speck 
against  this  tremendous  field  of  white,  the  giant  strug- 
gled on,  and  they  could  see  by  the  glass  that  he  sunk 
to  the  knee  in  the  softening  snow. 

"  Now,"  said  the  officer,  "  he  is  beginning  to  under- 
stand his  situation." 

Through  the  glass  they  saw  Samson  pause.  From 
below  it  seemed  as  if  the  snow  were  as  smooth  as  a 
sloping  roof,  but  even  to  the  naked  eye  a  shadow 
crossed  it  near  the  top.  That  shadow  was  a  tremen- 
dous ridge  of  overhanging  snow  more  than  a  hundred 
feet  deep ;  and  Samson  now  paused  as  he  reaMsed 
that  it  was  insurmountable.     Ke  looked  down  and  un- 


A  MODERN  SAMSON. 


H7 


to 


its 

was 

few 
I  the 
level 
*vhile 
ibing 

e  was 
k  pro- 
was  a 
n  was 

river, 
ended 

pure 
It  had 

speck 

strug- 
ie  sunk 

under- 

From 

th  as  a 

shadow 

:remen- 

Lundred 

IreaUsed 

and  un- 


doubtedly saw  a  part  of  the  regiment  waiting  for  him 
below.  He  turned  and  plodded  slowly  under  the 
overhanging  ridge  until  he  came  to  the  precipice  at 
his  left.  It  was  a  thousand  feet  sheer  down.  He  re- 
traced his  steps  and  walked  to  the  similar  precipice  at 
the  right.  Then  he  came  again  to  the  middle  of  the 
great  T  which  his  footmarks  had  made  on  that  virgin 
slope.     He  sat  down  in  the  snow. 

No  one  will  ever  know  what  a  moment  of  despair 
the  Breton  must  have  passed  through  when  he  realised 
the  hopelessness  of  his  toil. 

The  officer  who  was  gazing  through  the  glass  at 
him  dropped  his  hand  to  his  side  and  laughed. 

"  The  nature  of  the  situation,"  he  said,  "  has  at 
last  dawned  upon  him.  It  took  a  long  time  to  get 
an  appreciation  of  it  through  his  thick  Breton 
skull." 

"  Let  me  have  the  glass  a  moment,"  said  another. 
"  He  has  made  up  his  mind  about  something." 

The  officer  did  not  realise  the  full  significance  of 
what  he  saw  through  the  glass.  In  spite  of  their  con- 
ceit, their  skulls  were  thicker  than  that  of  the  perse- 
cuted Breton  fisherman. 

Samson  for  a  n^oment  turned  his  face  to  the  north 
and  raised  his  face  towards  heaven.  Whether  it  was 
an  appeal  to  the  saints  he  believed  in,  or  an  invocation 
to  the  distant  ocean  he  was  never  more  to  look  upon, 
who  can  tell  ? 

After  a  moment's  pause  he  flung  himself  headlong 
down  the  slope  tovvards  the  section  of  the  regiment 
which  lounged  on  the  bank  of  the  river.  Over  and 
over  he  rolled,  and  then  in  place  of  the  black  figure 


-    ;5 

it     i  I 


I4H 


REVENGIi! 


m 

it 


1 1 !::«! 


"ii  i 


there  came  downwards  a  white  ball,  gathering  bulk  at 
every  bound. 

It  was  several  seconds  before  the  significance  of 
what  they  were  gazing  at  burst  upon  officers  and  men. 
It  came  upon  them  simultaneously,  and  with  it  a  wild 
panic  of  fear.     In  the  still  air  a  low  sullen  roar  arose. 

"  An  avalanche  !     An  avalanche  !  !  "  they  cried. 

The  men  and  officers  were  hemmed  in  by  the  boil- 
ing torrent.  Some  of  them  plunged  in  to  get  to  the 
other  side,  but  the  moment  the  water  laid  hold  of 
them  their  heels  were  whirled  into  the  air,  and  they 
disappeared  helplessly  down  the  rajjids. 

Samson  was  hours  going  up  the  mountain,  but  only 
seconds  coming  down.  T.ike  an  overwhelming  wave 
came  the  white  crest  of  ^iic  avalanche,  sweeping  offi- 
cers and  men  into  and  over  the  stream  and  far  across 
the  plateau. 

There  was  one  mingled  shriek  which  made  itself 
heard  through  the  sullen  roar  of  the  snow,  then  all 
was  silence.  The  hemmed-in  waters  rose  high  and 
soon  forced  its  way  through  the  white  barrier. 

When  the  remainder  of  the  regiment  dug  out  from 
the  debris  the  bodies  of  their  comrades  they  found  a 
fixed  look  of  the  wildest  terror  on  every  face  except 
one.  Samson  himself,  without  an  unbroken  bone  in 
his  body,  slept  as  calnily  as  if  he  rested  under  the 
blue  waters  on  the  coast  of  Brittany. 


A  DEAL  ON    CHANGE. 


.nc  in 
the 


It  was  in  the  days  when  drawing-rooms  were  dark, 
and  filled  with  bric-a-brac.  The  darkness  enabled  the 
half-blinded  visitor,  coming  in  out  of  the  bright  light, 
to  knock  over  gracefully  a  $200  vase  that  had  come 
from  Japan  to  meet  disaster  in  New  York. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  was  seated,  in  a  deep  and 
luxurious  armchair,  a  most  beautiful  woman.  She 
was  the  wife  of  the  son  of  the  richest  man  in  America; 
she  was  young  ;  her  husband  was  devotedly  fond  of 
her  ;  she  was  mistress  of  a  palace ;  anything  that 
money  could  buy  was  hers  did  she  but  express  the 
wij'h;  but  she  was  weeping  softly,  and  had  just  made 
up  her  mind  that  she  was  the  most  miserable  creature 
in  all  the  land. 

If  a  stranger  had  ent  'ed  the  room  he  would  first 
have  been  impressed  by  the  fact  that  he  was  looking 
at  the  prettiest  woman  lie  had  ever  seen  ;  then  he 
would  have  been  haunted  by  the  idea  that  he  had 
met  her  somewhere  before.  If  he  were  a  man  moving 
in  artistic  circles  he  might  perhaps  remember  that  he 
had  seen  her  face  looking  down  at  him  from  various 
canvasen  in  picture  exhibitions,  and  unless  he  were  a 
stranger  to  the  gossip  of  the  country  he  could  hardly 
liclp  recollecting  the  dreadful  fuss  the  papers  made, 


•4i;!li5W-v.„ 


■:3P« 


lit 


ii  1' 


150 


REVENGE! 


as  if  it  were  any  business  of  theirs,  when  young  Ed. 
Druce  married  the  artists'  model,  celebrated  for  her 
loveliness. 

Every  one  has  read  the  story  of  that  marriage  ; 
goodness  knows,  the  papers  made  the  most  of  it,  as 
is  their  custom.  Young  Ed.,  who  knew  much  more 
of  the  world  than  did  his  father,  expected  stern  oppo- 
sition, and,  knowing  the  unlimited  power  unlimited 
wealth  gave  to  the  old  man,  he  did  not  risk  an  inter- 
view with  his  parent,  but  eloped  with  the  girl.  The 
first  inkling  old  man  Druce  had  of  the  affair  was  from 
a  vivid  sensational  account  of  the  runaway  in  an 
evening  paper.  He  was  pictured  in  the  paper  as  an 
implacable  father  who  was  at  that  moment  searching 
for  the  elopers  with  a  shot  gun.  Old  Druce  had  been 
too  often  the  central  figure  of  a  journalistic  sensation 
to  mind  what  the  sheet  said.  He  promptly  tele- 
graphed all  over  the  country,  and,  getting  into  com- 
munication with  his  son,  asked  him  (electrically)  as  a 
favour  to  bring  his  young  wife  home,  and  not  make  a 
fool  of  himself.  So  the  errant  pair,  much  relieved, 
came  back  to  New  York. 

Old  Druce  was  a  taciturn  man,  even  with  his  only 
son.  He  wondered  at  first  that  the  boy  should  have 
so  misjudged  him  as  to  suppose  he  would  raise  ob- 
jections, no  matter  whom  the  lad  wished  to  marry. 
He  was  bewildered  rather  than  enlightened  when  Ed. 
told  him  he  feared  opposition  because  the  girl  was 
poor.  What  difference  on  earth  did  that  make  ?  Had 
he  not  money  enough  for  all  of  tliem  ?  If  not,  was 
there  any  trouble  in  adding  to  their  store  ?  Were 
there  not  railroads  to  be  wrecked ;  stockholder^,  to  be 


A  DEAL  ON  'CHANGE. 


151 


|arry. 
Ed. 


fleeced  ;  Wall  Street  lambs  to  be  shorn  ?  Surely  a 
man  married  to  please  himself  and  not  to  make 
money.  Ed.  assured  the  old  man  that  cases  had  been 
known  where  a  suspicion  of  mercenary  motives  had 
hovered  round  a  matrimonial  alliance,  but  Druce 
expressed  the  utmost  contempt  for  such  a  state  of 
things. 

At  first  Ella  had  been  rather  afraid  of  her  silent 
father-in-law,  whose  very  name  made  hundreds  tremble 
and  thousands  curse,  but  she  soon  discovered  that  the 
old  man  actually  stood  in  awe  of  her,  and  that  his 
apparent  brusqueness  was  the  mere  awkwardness  he 
felt  when  in  her  presence.  He  was  anxious  to  please 
her,  and  worried  himself  wondering  whether  there  was 
anything  she  wanted. 

One  day  he  fumblingly  dropped  a  cheque  for  a 
million  dollars  in  her  lap,  and,  with  some  nervous 
confusion,  asked  her  to  run  out,  like  a  good  girl,  and 
buy  herself  something;  if  that  wasn't  enough,  she 
was  to  call  on  him  for  more.  The  girl  sprang  from 
her  chair  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  much 
to  the  old  man's  embarrassment,  who  was  not  accus- 
tomed to  such  a  situation.  She  kissed  him  in  spite  of 
himself,  allowing  the  cheque  to  flutter  to  the  floor, 
the  most  valuable  bit  of  paper  floating  around  loose 
in  America  that  day. 

When  he  reached  his  office  he  surprised  his  son. 
He  shook  his  fist  in  the  young  fellow's  face,  and  said 
sternly — 

**  If  you  ever  say  a  cross  word  to  that  little  girl,  I'll 
do  what  I've  never  done  yet — I'll  thrash  you !  " 

The  young  man  laughed. 


IJS: 


|i-'  ^ 


m 


152 


REVENGE! 


"All  right,  father.  I'll  deserve  a  thrashing  in  that 
case." 

The  old  man  became  almost  genial  whenever  he 
thought  of  his  pretty  daughter-in-law.  "  My  little 
girl,"  he  always  called  her.  At  first.  Wall  Street  men 
said  old  Druce  was  getting  into  his  dotage,  but  when 
a  nip  came  in  the  market  and  they  found  that,  as 
usual,  the  old  man  was  on  the  right  side  of  the  fence, 
they  were  compelled  reluctantly  to  admit,  with  emptier 
pockets,  that  the  dotage  had  not  yet  in  erfered  with 
the  financial  corner  of  old  Druce's  mind. 

As  young  Mrs.  Druce  sat  disconsolately  in  her 
drawing-room,  the  curtains  parted  gently,  and  her 
father-in-law  entered  stealthily,  as  if  he  were  a  thief, 
which  indeed  he  was,  and  the  very  greatest  of  them. 
Druce  had  small,  shifty  piercing  eyes  that  peered  out 
from  under  his  grey  bushy  eyebrows  like  two  steel 
sparks.  He  never  seemed  to  be  looking  directly  at 
any  one,  and  his  eyes  somehow  gave  you  the  idea 
that  they  were  trying  to  glance  back  over  his  shoulder, 
as  if  he  feared  pursuit.  Some  said  that  old  Druce 
was  in  constant  terror  of  assassination,  while  others 
held  that  he  knew  the  devil  was  on  his  track  and 
would  ultimately  nab  him. 

"  I  pity  the  devil  when  that  day  comes,"  young 
Sneed  said  once  when  some  one  had  made  the  usual 
remark  about  Druce.  This  echoed  the  general  feeling 
prevalent  in  Wall  Street  regarding  the  encounter  that 
was  admitted  by  all  to  be  inevitable. 

The  old  man  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
when  he  noticed  that  his  daughter-in-law  was  cry- 
ing. 


A  DEAL  ON  'CHANGE. 


153 


)ung 

isual 

iling 

that 

roorp 
cry- 


**  Dear,  dear  !  "  he  said  ;  '*  what  is  the  matter?  Has 
Edward  been  saying  anything  cross  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  papa,"  answered  the  girl.  "  Nobody  could  be 
kinder  to  me  than  Ed.  is.  There  is  nothing  really 
the  matter."  Then,  to  put  the  truth  of  lier  statement 
beyond  all  question,  she  began  to  cry  afresh. 

The  old  man  sat  down  beside  her,  taking  one  hand 
in  his  own.  "  Money?  "  he  asked  in  an  eager  whisper 
that  seemed  to  say  he  saw  a  solution  of  the  difficulty 
if  it  were  financial. 

"  Oh  dear  no.  I  have  all  the  money,  and  more, 
that  any  one  can  wish." 

The  old  man's  countenance  fell.  If  money  would 
not  remedy  the  state  of  things,  then  he  was  out  of 
his  depth. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  the  trouble  ?  Perhaps  I  can 
suggest ' 

*'  It's  nothmg  you  can  help  in,  papa.  It  is  nothing 
much,  any  way.  The  Misses  Sneed  won't  call  on  me, 
that's  all." 

''"he  old  man  knit  his  brows  and  thoughtfully 
s-  atched  his  chin. 

"  Won't  call  ?"  he  echoed  helplessly. 

*'  No.  They  think  I'm  not  good  enough  to  associate 
with  tlicm,  I  suppose." 

The  bushy  eyebrows  came  down  until  they  almost 
obscured  the  eyes,  and  a  dangerous  light  seemed  to 
scintillate  out  from  under  them. 

"You  must  be  mistaken.  Good  gracious,  I  am 
worth  ten  times  what  old  Sneed  is.  Not  good 
enough  ?     Why,  my  name  on  a  cheque  is " 

*'  It  isn't  a  question  of  cheques,  papa,"  wailed  the 


Till! 
i 


154 


REVENGE! 


girl ;  **  it's  a  question  of  society.  I  was  a  painter's 
model  before  1  married  Ed.,  and,  no  matter  how  rich 
I  am,  society  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  me." 

The  old  man  absent-mindedly  rubbed  his  chin, 
which  was  a  habit  he  had  when  'perplexed.  He  was 
face  to  face  with  a  problem  entirely  outside  his 
province.     Suddenly  a  happy  thought  struck  him. 

"  Those  Sneed  women  !  "  b  ^  said  in  tones  of  great 
contempt,  "  what  do  they  amount  to,  anyhow  ? 
They're  nothing  but  sour  old  maids.  They  never  were 
half  so  pretty  as  you.  Why  should  you  care  whether 
they  c'liled  on  you  or  not." 

"  The)^  represent  society.  If  they  came,  others 
would." 

"  But  society  can't  have  anything  against  you. 
Nobody  has  ever  said  a  word  against  your  character, 
model  or  no  model." 

The  girl  shook  her  head  hopelessly. 

"  Character  does  not  count  in  society." 

In  this  statement  she  was  of  course  absurdly  wrong, 
but  she  felt  bitter  at  all  the  world.  Those  who  know 
society  are  well  aware  that  character  counts  for  every- 
thing within  its  sacred  precincts.  So  the  unjust 
remark  should  not  be  set  down  to  the  discredit  of  an 
inexperienced  girl. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  cried  the  old  man, 
brightening  up.  '*  I'll  speak  to  Gen.  Sneed  to-morrow. 
I'll  arrange  the  whole  business  in  five  minutes." 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  do  any  good  ?  "  asked 
young  Mrs.  Druce,  dubiously. 

"  Good  ?  You  bet  it'll  do  good  !  It  will  settle  the 
whole  thing.     I've  helped  Sneed  out  of  a  pinch  before 


\i.  -I 


A  DEAL  ON    CHANGE. 


155 


^g. 


;ry- 

lUSt 


an 


I  an, 


:ed 


the 
fore 


now,  and  he'll  fix  up  a  little  matter  like  that  for  me 
in  no  time.  I'll  just  have  a  quiet  talk  with  the  General 
to-morrow,  and  you'll  see  the  Sneed  carriage  at  the 
door  next  day  at  the  very  latest."  He  patted  her 
smooth  white  hand  affectionately.  "  So  don't  you 
trouble,  little  girl,  about  trifles  ;  and  whenever  you 
want  help,  you  just  tell  the  old  man.  He  knows  a 
thing  or  two  yet,  whether  it  is  on  Wall  Street  or 
Fifth  Avenue." 

Sneed  was  known  in  New  York  as  the  General, 
probably  because  he  had  absolutely  no  military  ex- 
perience whatever.  Next  to  Druce  he  had  the  most 
power  in  the  financial  world  of  America,  but  there 
Was  a  great  distance  between  the  first  and  the  second. 
If  it  came  to  a  deal  in  which  the  General  and  all  the 
world  stood  against  Druce,  the  average  Wall  Street 
man  would  have  bet  on  Druce  against  the  whole 
combination.  Besides  this,  the  General  had  the  repi:- 
tation  of  being  a  "square"  man,  and  that  naturally 
told  against  him,  for  every  one  knew  that  Druce  was 
utterly  unscrupulous.  But  if  Druce  and  Sneed  were 
known  to  be  together  in  a  deal,  then  the  financial 
world  of  New  York  ran  for  shelter.  Therefore  when 
New  York  saw  old  Druce  come  in  with  the  stealthy 
tread  of  a  two-legged  leopard  and  glance  furtively 
around  the  great  room,  singling  out  Sneed  with  an 
almost  imperceptible  side  nod,  retiring  with  him  into 
a  remote  corner  where  more  ruin  had  been  concocted 
than  on  any  other  spot  on  earth,  and  talking  there 
eagerly  with  him,  a  hush  fell  on  the  vast  assemblage 
of  men,  and  for  the  moment  the  financial  heart  of  the 
nation  ceased  to  beat.     When  they  saw  Sneed  take 


m 


■  i 


!K''l 


Wh 


156 


REVENGE! 


out  hJs  note-book,  nodding  assent  to  whatever  prop- 
osition Druce  was  making,  a  cold  shiver  ran  up  the 
financial  backbone  of  New  York  ;  the  shiver  com- 
municated itself  to  the  electric  nerve-web  of  the  world, 
and  storm  signals  began  to  fly  in  the  monetary  centres 
of  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  and  Vienna. 

Uncertainty  paralysed  the  markets  of  the  earth 
because  two  old  gamblers  were  holding  a  whispered 
conversation  with  a  multitude  of  men  watching  them 
out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes. 

"  I'd  give  half  a  million  to  know  what  those  two  old 
fiends  are  concocting,"  said  John  P.  Buller,  the  great 
wheat  operator ;  and  he  meant  it ;  which  goes  to 
show  that  a  man  does  not  really  know  what  he  wants, 
and  would  be  very  dissatisfied  if  he  got  it. 

*'  Look  here.  General,"  said  Druce,  "  I  want  you  to 
do  me  a  favour." 

"  All  right,"  replied  the  General.     "Tm  with  you." 

"It's  about  my  little  girl,"  continued  Druce,  rubbing 
his  chin,  not  knowing  just  how  to  explain  matters  in 
the  cold  [financial  atmosphere  of  the  place  in  which 
they  found  themselves. 

*'  Oh !  About  Ed.'s  wife,"  said  Sneed,  looking 
puzzled. 

*'  Yes.  She's  fretting  her  heart  out  because  your 
two  girls  won't  call  upon  her.  I  found  her  crying 
about  it  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  Won't  call?  "  cried  the  General,  a  bewildered  look 
coming  over  his  face.  "  Haven  t  they  called  yet  ? 
You  see,  I  don't  bother  much  ...  3ut  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Neither  do  I.  No,  they  haven't  called.  I  don't 
suppose  they  mean  anything  by  it,  but   my  little  girl 


A  DEAL  ON    CHANGE. 


157 


thinks  they  do,  so  I  said  I  would  speak  to  you  about 
it." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  you  did.  I'll  see  to  that  the  mo- 
ment I  get  home.  What  time  shall  I  tell  them  to 
call?"  The  innocent  old  man,  little  comprehending 
what  he  was  promising,  pulled  out  his  note-book  and 
pencil,  looking  inquiringly  at  Druce. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Any  time  that  is  convenient 
for  them.  I  suppose  women  know  all  about  that. 
My  little  girl  is  at  home  most  all  afternoon,  I  guess." 

The  two  men  cordially  shook  hands,  and  the  market 
instantly  collapsed. 

It  took  three  days  for  the  financial  situation  to  re- 
cover its  tone.  Druce  had  not  been  visible,  and  that 
was  all  the  more  ominous.  The  older  operators  did 
not  relax  their  caution,  because  the  blow  had  not  yet 
fallen.  They  shook  their  heads,  and  said  the  cyclone 
would  be  all  the  worse  when  it  came. 

Old  Druce  came  among  them  the  third  day,  and 
there  was  a  set  look  about  his  lips  which  students  of 
his  countenance  did  noi  like.  The  situation  was 
complicated  by  the  evident  fact  that  the  General  was 
trying  to  avoid  him.  At  last,  however,  this  was  no 
longer  possible,  the  two  men  met,  and  after  a  word  or 
two  they  walked  up  and  down  together.  Druce  ap- 
peared to  be  saying  little,  and  the  firm  set  of  his  lips 
did  not  relax,  while  the  General  talked  rapidly  and 
was  seemingly  making  some  appeal  that  was  not  re- 
sponded to.     Stocks  instantly  went  up  a  few  points. 

"You  see,  Druce,  it's  like  this,"  the  General  was 
saying,  "  the  women  have  their  world,  and  we  have 
ours.     They  are»  in  a  measure " 


I 


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158 


REVENGE! 


I 


"  Are  they  going  to  call  ?  "  asked  Druce  curtly. 

"Just  let  me  finish  what  I  was  about  to  say.  W.o- 
men  have  their  rules  of  conduct,  and  we  have " 

**Are  they  going  to  call?"  repeated  Druce,  in  the 
same  hard  tone  of  voice. 

The  General  removed  his  hat  and  drew  his  hand- 
kerchief across  his  brow  and  over  the  bald  spot  on  his 
head.  He  wished  himself  in  any  place  but  where 
he  was,  inwardly  cursing  woman-kind  and  all  their 
silly  doings.  Bracing  up  after  removing  the  moisture 
from  his  forehead,  he  took  on  an  expostulatory 
tone. 

"  See  here,  Druce,  hang  it  all,  don't  shove  a  man 
into  a  corner.  Suppose  I  asked  you  to  go  to  Mrs.  Ed. 
and  tell  her  not  to  fret  about  trifles,  do  you  suppose 
she  wouldn't,  just  because  you  wanted  her  not  to? 
Come  now!  " 

Druce's  silence  encouraged  the  General  to  take  it 
for  assent. 

"  Very  well,  then.  You're  a  bigger  man  than  I  am, 
and  if  you  could  do  nothing  with  one  young  woman 
anxious  to  please  you,  what  do  you  expect  me  to  do 
with  two  old  maids  as  set  in  their  ways  as  the  Pali- 
sades.    It's  all  dumb  nonsense,  anyhow." 

Druce  remained  silent.  After  an  irksome  pause  the 
hapless  General  floundered  on — 

"  As  I  said  at  first,  women  have  their  world,  and  we 
have  ours.  Now,  Druce,  you're  a  man  of  solid  common 
sense.  What  would  you  think  if  Mrs.  Ed.  were  to 
come  here  and  insist  on  your  buying  Wabash  stock 
when  you  wanted  to  load  up  with  Lake  Shore?  Look 
how  absurd  that  would  be.     Very  well,  then  ;  we  have 


A  DEAL  ON  'CHANGE. 


'59 


no  more  right  to  interfere  with  the  women  than  they 
have  to  interfere  with  us." 

"  If  my  little  girl  wanted  the  whole  Wabash  System 
I'd  buy  it  for  her  to-morrow,"  said  Druce,  with  rising 
anger. 

"  Lord !  what  a  slump  that  would  make  in  the 
market ! "  cried  the  General,  his  feeling  of  discomfort 
being  momentarily  overcome  by  the  magnificence  of 
Druce's  suggestion.  "  However,  all  this  doesn't  need 
to  make  any  difference  in  our  friendship.  If  I  can  be 
of  any  assistance  financially  I  shall  only  be  too " 

"  Oh,  I  need  your  financial  assistance !  "  sneered 
Druce.  He  took  his  defeat  badly.  However,  in  a 
minute  or  two,  he  pulled  himself  together  and  seemed 
to  shake  off  his  trouble. 

"  What  nonsense  I  am  talking,"  he  said  when  he 
had  obtained  control  of  himself.  '*  We  all  need  assist- 
ance now  and  then,  and  none  of  us  know  when  we 
may  need  it  badly.  In  fact,  there  is  a  little  deal  I  in- 
tended to  speak  to  you  about  to-day,  but  this  con- 
founded business  drove  it  out  of  my  mind.  How 
much  Gilt  Edged  security  have  you  in  your  safe?" 

"  About  three  millions'  worth,"  replied  the  General, 
brightening  up,  now  that  they  were  off  the  thin  ice. 

**  That  will  be  enough  for  me  if  we  can  make  a 
dicker.  Suppose  we  adjourn  to  your  office.  This 
is  too  public  a  place  for  a  talk." 

They  went  out  together. 

"So  there  is  no  ill-feeling?"  said  the  General,  as 
Druce  arose  to  go  with  the  securities  in  his  handbag. 

"  No.  But  we'll  stick  strictly  to  business  after  this, 
and  leave  social   questions   alone.     By   the   way,   to 


'Hi 


>        ^;« 


i6o 


REVENGE! 


/ 


I 


i 


show  that  there  is  no  ill-feeling,  will  you  come  with 
me  for  a  blow  on  the  sea  ?  Suppose  we  say  Friday. 
I  have  just  telegraphed  for  my  yacht,  and  she  will 
leave  Newport  to-night.  I'll  have  some  good  cham- 
pagne on  board." 

"  I  thought  sailors  imagined  Friday  was  an  unlucky 
day ! " 

**  My  sailors  don't.  Will  eight  o'clock  be  too  early 
for  you  ?    Twenty-third  Street  wharf." 

The  General  hesitated.  Druce  was  wonderfully 
friendly  all  of  a  sudden,  and  he  knew  enough  of  him 
to  be  just  a  trifle  suspicious.  But  when  he  recollected 
that  Druce  himself  was  going,  he  said,  "  Where  could 
a  telegram  reach  us,  if  it  were  necessary  to  telegraph  ? 
The  market  is  a  trifle  shaky,  and  I  don't  like  being 
out  of  town  all  day." 

"  The  fact  that  we  are  both  on  the  yacht  will  steady 
the  market.  But  we  can  drop  in  at  Long  Branch  and 
receive  despatches  if  you  think  * '   lecessary." 

"All  right,"  said  the  General,  much  relieved.  "  I'll 
meet  you  at  Twenty-third  Street  at  eight  o'clock 
Friday  morning,  then." 

Druce's  yacht,  the  Seahonndy  was  a  magnificent 
steamer,  almost  as  large  as  an  Atlantic  liner.  It  was 
currently  believed  in  New  York  that  Druce  kept  her 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  being  able  to  escape  in  her, 
should  an  exasperated  country  ever  rise  in  its  might 
and  demand  his  blood.  It  was  rumoured  that  the  Sea- 
hound  was  ballasted  with  bars  of  solid  gold  and  provi- 
sioned for  a  two  years'  cruise.  Mr.  BuUer,  however, 
claimed  that  the  tendency  of  nature  was  to  revert  to 
original  conditions,  and  that  some  fine  morning  Druce 


•^1 

■  SI 


i  Bi 


A  DEAL  ON  'CHANGE. 


i6i 


would  hoist  the  black  flag,  sail  away,  and  become  a 
real  pirate. 

The  great  speculator,  in  a  very  nautical  suit,  was 
waiting  for  the  General  when  he  drove  up,  and,  the 
moment  he  came  aboard,  lines  were  cast  off  and  the 
Scahound  steamed  slowly  down  the  bay.  The  morn- 
ing was  rather  thick,  so  they  were  obliged  to  move 
cautiously,  and  before  they  reached  the  bar  the  fog 
came  down  so  densely  that  they  had  to  stop,  while 
bell  rang  and  whistle  blew.  They  were  held  there 
until  it  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock,  but  time  passed 
quickly,  for  there  were  all  the  morning  papers  to 
read,  neither  of  the  men  having  had  an  opportunity 
to  look  at  them  before  leaving  the  city. 

As  the  fog  cleared  away  and  the  engines  began  to 
move,  the  captain  sent  down  and  asked  Mr.  Druce  if 
he  would  come  on  deck  for  a  moment.  The  captain 
was  a  shrewd  man,  and  understood  his  employer. 

"  There's  a  tug  making  for  us,  sir,  signalling  us  to 
stop.     Shall  we  stop  ?  " 

Old  Druce  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully,  and  looked 
over  the  stern  of  the  yacht.  He  saw  a  tug,  with  a 
banner  of  black  smoke,  tearing  after  them,  heaping 
up  a  ridge  of  white  foam  ahead  of  her.  Some  flags 
fluttered  from  the  single  mast  in  front,  and  she  shat- 
tered the  air  with  short  hoarse  shrieks  of  the  whistle. 

"  Can  she  overtake  us  ?  " 

The  captain  smiled.  "  Nothing  in  the  harbour  can 
"overtake  us,  sir." 

"  Very  well.  Full  steam  ahead.  Don't  answer  the 
signals.  You  did  not  happen  to  see  them,  you 
know !  " 


'  in*' 


\  Wn 


1 62 


REVENGE! 


"  Quite  so,  sir,"  replied  the  captain,  going  for- 
ward. 

Although  the  motion  of  the  Seahoumfs  engines 
could  hardly  be  felt,  the  tug,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts, 
did  not  seem  to  be  gaining.  When  the  yacht  put  on 
her  speed  the  little  steamer  gradually  fell  farther  and 
farther  behind,  and  at  last  gave  up  the  hopeless  chase. 
When  well  out  at  sea  something  went  wrong  with  the 
engines,  and  there  was  a  second  delay  of  some  hours. 
A  stop  at  Long  Branch  was  therefore  out  of  the 
question. 

"  1  told  you  Friday  was  an  unlucky  day,"  said  the 
General. 

It  was  eight  o'clock  that  evening  before  the  Sea- 
hound  stood  off  from  the  Twenty-third  Street  wharf. 

"  rU  have  to  put  you  ashore  in  a  small  boat,"  said 
Druce  ;  "you  won't  mind  that,  I  hope.  The  captain 
is  so  uncertain  about  the  engines  that  he  doesn't  want 
to  go  nearer  land." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  in  the  least.  Good-night.  I've 
had  a  lovely  day." 

"  I'm  glad  you  enjoyed  it.  We  will  take  another 
trip  together  some  time,  when  I  hope  so  many  things 
won't  happen  as  happened  to-day." 

The  General  saw  that  his  carriage  was  waiting  for 
him,  but  the  waning  light  did  not  permit  him  to 
recognise  his  son  until  he  was  up  on  dry  land  once 
more.  The  look  on  his  son's  face  appalled  the  old 
man. 

*'  My  God  !  John,  what  has  happened  ?  " 

**  Everything's  happened.  Where  are  the  securities 
that  were  in  the  safe  ?  " 


T 


IVe 


-=w 


, 

Im 

1^ 

■'  i 

WHAT     MAS     ll.Wyi.WAtf  "—PajfC    /<jj. 


A  DEAL  ON  'CHANGE. 


163 


"  Oh,  they're  all  right,"  said  his  father,  a  feeling  of 
relief  coming  over  him.  Then  the  thought  flashed 
through  his  mind:  How  did  John  know  they  were 
not  in  the  safe  ?  Sneed  kept  a  tight  rein  on  his  affairs, 
and  no  one  but  himself  knew  the  combination  that 
would  open  the  safe. 

*'  How  did  you  know  that  the  securities  were  not 
there?" 

"  Because  I  had  the  safe  blown  open  at  one  o'clock 
to-day." 

"  Blown  open  !     For  Heaven's  sake,  why?" 

**  Step  into  the  carriage,  and  I'll  tell  you  on  the  way 
home.  The  bottom  dropped  out  of  everything.  All 
the  Sneed  stocks  went  down  with  a  run.  We  sent  a 
tug  after  you,  but  that  old  devil  had  you  tight.  If 
I  could  have  got  at  the  bonds,  I  think  I  could  have 
stopped  the  run.  The  situation  might  have  been 
saved  up  to  one  o'clock,  but  after  that,  when  the 
Street  saw  we  were  doing  nothing,  all  creation 
couldn't  have  stopped  it.     Where  are  the  bonds?  " 

"  I  sold  them  to  Druce." 

"  What  did  you  get  ?     Cash  ?  " 

"  I  took  his  cheque  on  the  Trust  National  Bank." 

"  Did  you  cash  it?  Did  you  cash  it?"  cried  the 
young  man.     *'  And  if  you  did,  where  is  the  money  ?  " 

"  Druce  asked  me  as  a  favour  not  to  present  the 
cheque  until  to-morrow." 

The  young  man  made  a  gesture  of  despair. 

"  The  T'-ust  National  went  to  smash  to-day  at  two. 
We  are  paupers,  father;  we  haven't  a  cent  left  out 
of  the  wreck.  That  cheque  business  is  so  evidently 
a   fraud   that — but   what's  the   use  of   talking.     Old 


i 


.1; 


ii 


164 


REVENGE! 


Druce  has  the  money,  and  he  can  buy  all  the  law  he 
wants  in  New  York.  God  !  I'd  like  to  have  a  seven 
seconds*  interview  with  him  with  a  loaded  seven- 
shooter  in  my  hand !  We'd  see  how  much  the  law 
would  do  for  him  then." 

General  Sneed  despondently  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  no  use,  John,"  he  said.  "  We're  in  the  same 
business  ourselves,  only  this  time  we  got  the  hot  end 
of  the  poker.  But  he  played  it  low  down  on  me, 
pretending  to  be  friendly  and  all  that."  The  two  men 
did  not  speak  again  until  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the 
brown  stone  mansion,  which  earlier  in  the  day  Sneed 
would  have  called  his  own.  Sixteen  reporters  were 
waiting  for  them,  but  the  old  man  succeeded  in 
escaping  to  his  room,  leaving  John  to  battle  with  the 
newspaper  men. 

Next  morning  the  papers  were  full  of  the  news  of 
the  panic.  They  said  that  old  Druce  had  gone  in  his 
yacht  for  a  trip  up  the  New  England  coast.  They 
deduced  from  this  fact,  that,  after  all,  Druce  might 
not  have  had  a  hand  in  the  disaster  ;  everything  was 
always  blamed  on  Druce.  Still  it  was  admitted  that, 
whoever  suffered,  the  Druce  stocks  were  all  right. 
They  were  quite  unanimously  frank  in  saying  that  the 
Sneeds  were  wiped  out,  whatever  that  might  mean. 
The  General  had  refused  himself  to  all  the  reporters, 
while  young  Sneed  seemed  to  be  able  to  do  nothing 
but  swear. 

Shortly  before  noon  General  Sneed,  who  had  not 
left  the  house,  received  a  letter  brought  by  a  mes- 
senger. 

He   feverishly   tore   it  open,  for  he   recognised  on 


^ 


A  DEAL  ON    CHANGE. 


165 


m 


the  envelope  the  well-known  scrawl  of  the  great  spec- 
ulator. 

Dear  Sneed  (it  ran), 

You  will  see  by  the  papers  that  I  am  off  on 
a  cruise,  but  they  are  as  wrong  as  they  usually  are 
when  they  speak  of  me.  !  le^.n  there  was  a  bit  of 
a  flutter  in  the  market  while  we  were  away  yesterday, 
and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  my  brokers,  who  are  sharp 
men,  did  me  a  good  turn  or  two.  I  often  wonder  why 
these  flurries  come,  but  I  suppose  it  is  to  let  a  man 
pick  up  some  sound  stocks  at  a  reasonable  rate,  if  he 
has  the  money  by  him.  Perhaps  they  are  also  sent 
to  teach  humility  to  those  who  might  else  become 
purse-proud.  We  are  but  finite  creatures,  Sneed,  here 
to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  How  foolish  a  thing  is 
pride  !  And  that  reminds  me  that  if  your  two  daughters 
should  happen  to  think  as  I  do  on  the  uncertainty  of 
riches,  I  wish  you  would  ask  them  to  call.  I  have 
done  up  those  securities  in  a  sealed  package  and 
given  the  parcel  to  my  daughter-in-law.  She  has  no 
idea  what  the  value  of  it  is,  but  thinks  it  a  little  pres- 
ent from  me  to  your  girls.  If,  then,  they  should  hap- 
pen to  call,  she  will  hand  it  to  them  ;  if  not,  I  shall 
use  the  contents  to  found  a  college  for  the  purpose  of 
teaching  manners  to  young  women  whose  grandfather 
used  to  feed  pigs  for  a  living,  as  indeed  my  own  grand- 
father did.  Should  the  ladies  happen  to  like  each 
other,  I  think  I  can  put  you  on  to  a  deal  next  week 
that  will  make  up  for  Friday.  I  like  you,  Sneed,  but 
you  have  no  head  for  business.  Seek  my  advice 
oftener. 

Ever  yours, 

Druce. 

The  Sneed  girls  called  on  Mrs.  Edward  Druce. 


M 


on 


f'ii 


TRANSFORMATION. 


If  you  grin  '  castor  sugar  with  an  equal  quantity 
of  chlorate  of  ^>otash,  the  result  is  an  innocent-look- 
ing white  compound,  sweet  to  the  taste,  and  some- 
times beneficial  in  the  case  of  a  sore  throat.  But  if 
you  dip  a  glass  rod  into  a  small  quantity  of  sulphuric 
acid,  and  merely  touch  the  harmless-appearing  mixture 
with  the  wet  end  of  the  rod,  the  dish  which  contains  it 
becomes  instantly  a  roaring  furnace  of  fire,  vomiting 
forth  a  fountain  of  burning  balls,  and  filling  the  room 
with  a  dense,  black,  suffocating  cloud  of  smoke. 

So  strange  a  combination  is  that  mystery  which  we 
term  Human  Nature,  that  a  touch  of  adverse  circum- 
stance may  transform  a  quiet,  peaceable,  law-abiding 
citizen  into  a  malefactor  whose  heart  is  filled  with  a 
desire  for  vengeance,  stopping  at  nothing  to  accom- 
plish it. 

In  a  little  narrow  street  off  the  broad  Rue  de  Rennes, 
near  the  great  terminus  of  Mont-Parnasse,  stood  the 
clock-making  shop  of  the  brothers  Delore.  The  win- 
dow was  filled  with  cheap  clocks,  and  depending  from 
a  steel  spring  attached  to  the  top  of  the  door  was  a 
bell,  which  rang  when  any  one  entered,  for  the  brothers 
were  working  clockmakers,  continually  busy  in  the 
room  at  the  back  of  the  shop,  and  trade  in  the  neigh- 


1' 


TRANSFORMATION. 


167 


bourhood  was  not  brisk  enougli,  to  allow  them  to  keep 
an  assistant.  The  brothers  had  worked  amicably  in 
this  small  room  for  twenty  years,  and  v/ere  reported 
by  the  denizens  of  that  quarter  of  Paris  to  be  enor- 
mously rich.  They  were  certainly  contented  enough, 
and  had  plenty  of  money  for  their  frugal  wants,  as 
well  as  for  their  occasional  exceedingly  mild  dissipa- 
tions at  the  neighbouring  cafe.  They  had  always  a 
little  money  for  the  church,  and  a  little  money  for 
charity,  and  no  one  had  ever  heard  either  of  them 
speak  a  harsh  word  to  any  living  soul,  and  least  of  all 
to  each  other.  When  the  sensitively  adjusted  bell  at 
the  door  announced  the  arrival  of  a  possible  customer, 
Adolph  left  his  work  and  attended  to  the  shop,  while 
Alphonse  continued  his  task  without  interruption. 
The  former  was  supposed  to  be  the  better  business 
man  of  the  two,  while  the  latter  was  admittedly  the 
better  workman.  They  had  a  room  over  the  shop, 
and  a  small  kitchen  over  the  workroom  at  the  back ; 
but  only  one  occupied  the  bedroom  above,  the  other 
sleeping  ''n  the  shop,  as  it  was  supposed  that  the  wares 
there  displayed  must  have  formed  an  almost  irresisti- 
ble temptation  to  any  thief  desirous  of  accumulating 
a  quantity  of  time-pieces.  The  brothers  took  week- 
about  at  guarding  the  treasures  below,  but  in  all 
the  twenty  years  no  thief  had  yet  disturbed  their 
slumbers. 

One  evening,  just  as  they  were  about  to  close  the 
shop  and  adjourn  together  to  the  caf6,  the  bell  rang, 
and  Adolph  went  forward  to  learn  what  was  wanted. 
He  found  waiting  for  him  an  unkempt  individual  of 
appearance  so  disreputable,  that  he  at  once  made  up 


N<ii 


i^:M 


V 


n_ 


1 68 


REVENGE! 


his  mind  that  here  at  last  was  the  thief  for  whom  they 
had  waited  so  long  in  vain.  The  man's  wild,  roving 
eye,  that  seemed  to  search  out  every  corner  and 
cranny  in  the  place  and  rest  nowhere  for  longer  than 
a  second  at  a  time,  added  to  Delore's  suspicions. 
The  unsavoury  visitor  was  evidently  spying  out  the 
land,  and  Adolph  felt  certain  he  would  do  no  business 
with  him  at  that  particular  hour,  whatever  might  hap- 
pen later. 

The  customer  took  from  under  his  coat,  after  a 
furtive  glance  at  the  door  of  the  back  room,  a  small 
paper-covered  parcel,  and,  untying  the  string  somewhat 
hurriedly,  displayed  a  crude  piece  of  clockwork  made 
of  brass.  Handing  it  to  Adolph,  he  said,  "  How  much 
would  it  cost  to  make  a  dozen  like  that  ?  " 

Adolph  took  the  piece  of  machinery  in  his  hand 
and  examined  it.  It  was  slightly  concave  in  shape, 
and  among  the  wheels  was  a  strong  spring.  Adolph 
wound  up  this  spring,  but  so  loosely  was  the  machinery 
put  together  that  when  he  let  go  the  key,  the  spring 
quickly  uncoiled  itself  with  a  whirring  noise  of  the 
wheels. 

"  This  is  very  bad  workmanship,"  said  Adolph. 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  man,  who,  notwithstanding  his 
poverty-stricken  appearance,  spoke  like  a  person  of 
education.  **  That  is  why  I  come  to  you  for  better 
v/orkmanship." 

"What  is  it  used  for?" 

The  man  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  It  is  part  of  a 
clock,"  he  said  at  last. 

"  I  don't  understand  it.  I  never  saw  a  clock  made 
like  thts." 


1 


TRANSFORMATION. 


169 


the 


"  It  is  an  alarm  aitachment,**  replied  the  visitor, 
with  some  impatience.  "  It  is  not  necessary  that  you 
should  understand  it.  All  I  ask  is,  can  you  duplicate 
it  and  at  what  price  ?  " 

"  But  why  not  make  the  alarm  machinery  part  of 
the  clock?  It  would  be  much  cheaper  than  to  make 
this  and  then  attach  it  to  a  clock." 

The  man  made  a  gesture  of  annoyance. 

"  Will  you  answer  my  question  ?  "  he  said  gruffly. 

**  I  don't  beheve  you  want  this  as  part  of  a  clock. 
In  fact,  I  think  I  can  guess  why  you  came  in  here," 
replied  Adolph,  as  innocent  as  a  child  of  any  correct 
suspicion  of  what  the  man  was,  thinking  him  merely 
a  thief,  and  hoping  to  frighten  him  by  this  hint  of  his 
own  shrewdness. 

His  visitor  looked  loweringly  at  him,  and  then,  with 
a  quick  eye,  seemed  to  measure  the  distance  from 
where  he  stood  to  the  pavement,  evidently  meditating 
flight. 

**  I  will  see  what  my  brother  says  about  this,"  said 
Adolph.  But  before  Adolph  could  call  his  brother, 
the  man  bolted  and  was  gone  in  an  instant,  leaving 
the  mechanism  in  the  hands  of  the  bewildered  clock- 
maker. 

Alphonse,  when  he  heard  the  story  of  their  belated 
customer,  was  even  more  convinced  than  his  brother 
of  the  danger  of  the  situation.  The  man  was  un- 
doubtedly a  thief,  and  the  bit  of  clockwork  merely  an 
excuse  for  getting  inside  the  fortress.  The  brothers, 
with  much  perturbation,  locked  up  the  establishment, 
and  instead  of  going  to  their  usual  caf6,  they  betook 
themselves  as  speedily  as  possible  to  the  office  of  the 


H 


>  i. 


I/O 


REVENGE! 


police,  where  they  told  their  suspicions  and  gave  a 
description  of  the  supposed  culprit.  The  officer 
seemed  much  impressed  by  their  story. 

"  Have  you  brought  with  you  the  machine  he  showed 

"  No.  It  is  at  the  shop,"  said  Adolph.  "  It  was 
merely  an  excuse  to  get  inside,  I  am  sure  of  that,  for 
no  clockmaker  ever  made  it." 

"  Perhaps,"  replied  the  officer.  *'  Will  you  go  and 
bring  it  ?  Say  nothing  of  this  to  any  one  you  meet, 
but  wrap  the  machine  in  paper  and  bring  it  as  quickly 
and  as  quietly  as  you  can.  I  would  send  a  man  with 
you,  only  I  do  not  wish  to  attract  attention." 

Before  morning  the  man,  who  gave  his  name  as 
Jacques  Picard,  was  arrested,  but  the  authorities  made 
little  by  their  zeal.  Adolph  Delore  swore  positively 
that  Picard  and  his  visitor  were  the  same  pei.  i,  but 
the  prisoner  had  no  difficulty  in  proving  that  he  was 
in  a  cafd  two  miles  away  at  the  time  the  visitor  was  in 
Delore's  shop,  while  Adolph  had  to  admit  that  the 
shop  was  rather  dark  when  the  conversation  about 
the  clockwork  took  place.  Picard  was  ably  defended, 
and  his  advocate  submitted  that,  even  if  he  had  been 
in  the  shop  as  stated  by  Delore,  and  had  bargained  as 
alleged  for  the  mechanism,  there  was  nothing  criminal 
in  that,  unless  the  prosecution  could  show  that  he 
intended  to  put  what  he  bought  to  improper  uses. 
As  well  arrest  a  man  who  entered  to  buy  a  key  for  his 
watch.  So  Picard  was  released,  although  the  police, 
certain  he  was  one  of  the  men  they  wanted,  resolved 
to  keep  a  close  watch  on  his  future  movements.  But 
the  suspected  man,  as  if  to    save    them   unnecessary 


TRANSFORMATION. 


i/r 


trouble,  left  two  days  later  for  London,  and  there  re- 
mained. 

For  a  week  Adolph  slept  badly  in  the  shop,  for 
although  he  hoped  the  thief  had  been  frightened  away 
by  the  proceedings  taken  against  him,  still,  whenever 
he  fell  asleep,  he  dreamt  of  burglars,  and  so  awoke 
himself  many  times  during  the  long  nights. 

When  it  came  the  turn  of  Alphonse  to  sleep  in  the 
shop,  Adolph  hoped  for  an  undisturbed  night's  rest  in 
the  room  above,  but  the  Fates  were  against  him. 
Shortly  after  midnight  he  was  flung  from  his  bed  to 
the  floor,  and  he  felt  the  house  rocking  as  if  an  earth- 
quake had  passed  under  Paris.  He  got  on  his  hands 
and  knees  in  a  dazed  condition,  with  a  roar  as  of  thun- 
der in  his  ears,  mingled  with  the  sharp  crackle  of 
breaking  glass.  He  made  1iis  way  to  the  window, 
wondering  whether  he  was  asleep  or  awake,  and  found 
the  window  shattered.  Tl  moonlight  poured  into 
the  deserted  street,  and  he  noticed  a  cloud  of  dust 
and  smoke  rising  from  the  front  of  the  shop.  He 
groped  his  way  through  the  darkness  towards  the 
stairway  and  went  down,  calling  his  brother's  name ; 
but  the  lower  part  of  the  stair  had  been  blown  away, 
and  he  fell  upon  the  ddbris  below,  lying  there  half- 
stunned,  enveloped  in  suffocating  smoke. 

When  Adolph  partially  recovered  consciousness,  he 
became  aware  that  two  men  were  helping  him  out 
over  the  ruins  of  the  shattered  shop.  He  was  still 
murmuring  the  name  of  his  brother,  and  they  were 
telling  him,  in  a  reassuring  tone,  that  everything  was 
all  right,  although  he  vaguely  felt  that  what  they  said 
was  not  true.     They  had  their  arms  linked  in  his,  and 


ii 


mi 


1/2 


REVENGE! 


he  stumbled  helplessly  among  the  wreckage,  seeming 
to  have  lost  control  over  his  limbs.  He  saw  that  the 
whole  front  of  the  shop  was  gone,  and  noticed 
through  the  wide  opening  that  a  crowd  stood  in  the 
street,  kept  back  by  the  police.  He  wondered  why 
he  had  not  seen  all  these  people  when  he  looked 
out  of  the  shattered  window.  When  they  brought 
him  to  the  ambulance,  he  resisted  slightly,  saying  he 
wanted  to  go  to  his  brother's  assistance,  who  was 
sleeping  in  the  shop,  but  with  gentle  force  they  placed 
him  in  the  vehicle,  and  he  was  driven  away  to  the 
hospital. 

For  several  days  Adolph  fancied  that  he  was  dream- 
ing, that  he  would  soon  awake  and  take  up  again  the 
old  pleasant,  industrious  life.  It  was  the  nurse  who 
told  him  he  would  never  see  his  brother  again,  adding 
by  way  of  consolation  that  death  had  been  painless 
and  instant,  that  the  funeral  had  been  one  of  the 
grandest  that  quarter  of  Paris  had  ever  seen,  naming 
many  high  and  important  officials  who  had  attended 
it.  Adolph  turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  groaned. 
His  frightful  dream  was  to  last  him  his  life. 

When  he  trod  the  streets  of  Paris  a  week  later,  he 
was  but  the  shadow  of  his  former  portly  self.  He  was 
gaunt  and  haggard,  his  clothes  hanging  on  him  as  if 
they  had  been  made  for  some  other  man,  a  fortnight's 
stubby  beard  on  the  face  which  had  always  heretofore 
been  smoothly  shaven.  He  sat  silently  at  the  caf^, 
and  few  of  his  friends  recognised  him  at  first.  They 
heard  he  had  received  ample  compensation  from  the 
Government,  and  now  would  have  money  enough  to 
suffice  him  all  his  life,  without  the  necessity  of  work- 


TRANSFORMATION. 


173 


ing  for  it,  and  they  looked  on  him  as  a  fortunate  man. 
But  he  sat  there  Hstlessly,  receiving  their  congratula- 
tions or  condolences  with  equal  apathy.  Once  he 
walked  past  the  shop.  The  front  was  boarded  up, 
and  glass  had  been  put  in  the  upper  windows. 

He  wandered  aimlessly  through  the  streets  of  Paris, 
some  saying  he  was  insane,  and  that  he  was  looking 
for  his  brother ;  others,  that  he  was  searching  for  the 
murderer.  One  day  he  entered  the  police-office  where 
he  had  first  made  his  unlucky  complaint. 

"  Have  you  arrested  him  yet  ? "  he  asked  of  the 
officer  in  charge. 

"  Whom  ?  "  inquired  the  officer,  not  recognising  his 
visitor. 

"  Picard.     I  am  Adolph  Delore." 

"  It  was  not  Picard  who  committed  the  crime.  He 
was  in  London  at  the  time,  and  is  there  still." 

"  Ah  !  He  said  he  was  in  the  north  of  Paris  when 
he  was  with  me  in  the  south.  He  is  a  liar.  He  blew 
up  the  shop." 

"  I  quite  believe  he  planned  it,  but  the  deed  was 
done  by  another.  It  was  done  by  Lamoine,  who  left 
for  Brussels  next  morning  and  went  to  London  by 
way  of  Antwerp.  He  is  living  with  Picard  in  London 
at  this  moment." 

'*  If  you  know  that,  why  has  neither  of  them  ueen 
taken  ?  " 

**  To  know  is  one  thing ;  to  be  able  to  prove  quite 
another.  We  cannot  get  these  rascals  from  England 
merely  on  suspicion,  and  they  will  take  good  care  not 
to  set  foot  in  France  for  some  time  to  come." 

"  You  are  waiting  for  evidence,  then  ?  " 


m 


ii 


! 


r 


174 


REVENGE! 


"  We  are  waiting  for  evidence." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  get  it  ?  " 

"  We  are  having  them  watched.  They  are  very 
quiet  just  now,  but  it  won't  be  for  long.  Picard  is 
too  restless.  Then  we  may  arrest  some  one  soon  who 
will  confess." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  help.  I  am  going  to  London. 
Will  you  give  me  Picard's  address?  " 

**  Here  is  his  address,  but  I  think  you  had  better 
leave  the  case  alone.  You  do  not  know  the  language, 
and  you  may  merely  arouse  his  suspicions  if  you  in- 
terfere. Still,  if  you  learn  anything,  communicate 
with  me." 

The  former  frank,  honest  expression  in  Adolph's 
eyes  had  given  place  to  a  look  of  cunning,  that  ap- 
pealed to  the  instincts  of  a  French  police-officer.  He 
thought  something  might  come  of  this,  and  his  in- 
stincts did  not  mislead  him. 

Delore  with  great  craftiness  watched  the  door  of 
the  house  in  London,  taking  care  that  no  one  should 
suspect  his  purpose.  He  saw  Picard  come  out  alone 
on  several  occasions,  and  once  with  another  of  his 
own  stripe,  whom  he  took  to  be  Lamoine. 

One  evening,  when  crossing  Leicester  Square, 
Picard  was  accosted  by  a  stranger  in  his  own  lan- 
guage. Looking  round  with  a  start,  he  saw  at  his 
side  a  cringing  tramp,  worse  than  shabbily  dressed. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Picard,  with  a  tremor 
in  his  voice. 

"  Could  you  assist  a  poor  countryman  ?  "  whined 
Delore. 

"  I  have  no  m^ney." 


TRANSFORMATION. 


/:> 


in- 


ire, 

lan- 

his 

lor 

led 


"  Perhaps  you  could  help  me  to  get  work.  I  don't 
know  the  language,  but  I  am  a  good  workman." 

"  How  can  I  help  you  to  work  ?  I  have  no  work 
myself." 

"  I  would  be  willing  to  work  for  nothing,  if  I  could 
get  a  place  to  sleep  in  and  something  to  eat." 

"  Why  don't  you  steal  ?  I  would  if  I  were  hungry. 
What  are  you  afiaid  of?  Prison?  It  is  no  worse 
than  tramping  the  streets  hungry ;  I  know,  for  I  have 
tried  both.     What  is  your  trade  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  watchmaker  and  a  first-class  workman, 
but  I  have  pawned  all  my  tools.  I  have  tramped 
from  Lyons,  but  there  is  nothing  doing  in  my  trade." 

Picard  looked  at  him  suspiciously  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. 

'*  Why  did  you  accost  me  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  I  saw  you  were  a  fellow-countryman  ;  Frenchmen 
have  helped  me  from  time  to  time." 

"  Let  us  sit  down  on  this  bench.  What  is  your 
name,  and  how  long  have  you  been  in  England  ?  " 

**  My  name  is  Adolph  Carrier,  and  I  have  been  in 
London  three  months." 

"  So  long  as  that  ?  How  have  you  lived  all  that 
time?" 

*'  Very  poorly,  as  you  may  see.  I  sometimes  get 
scraps  from  the  French  restaurants,  and  I  sleep  where 
I  can." 

"  Well,  I  think  I  can  do  better  than  that  for  you. 
Come  with  me." 

Picard  took  Delore  to  his  house,  letting  himself 
in  with  a  latchkey.  Nobody  seemed  to  occupy  the 
place  but  himself  and  Lamoine.     He  led  the  way  to 


I 


...  ;! 


t?'i 


e« 


176 


REVENGE! 


the  top  story,  and  opened  a  door  that  communicated 
with  a  room  entirely  bare  of  furniture.  Leaving 
Adolph  there,  Picard  went  downstairs  again  and  came 
up  shortly  after  with  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand, 
followed  by  Lamoine,  who  carried  a  mattress. 

"This  will  do  for  you  for  to-night,"  said  Picard, 
"  and  to-morrow  we  will  see  if  we  can  get  you  any 
work.     Can  you  make  clocks  ? " 

"  Oh  yes,  and  good  ones." 

•*  Very  well.  Give  me  a  list  of  the  tools  and  ma- 
terials you  need,  and  I  will  get  them  for  you." 

Picard  wrote  in  a  note-book  the  items  Adolph 
recited  to  him,  Lamoine  watching  their  new  employ^ 
closely,  but  saying  nothing.  Next  day  a  table  and  a 
chair  were  put  into  the  room,  and  in  the  afternoon 
Picard  brought  in  the  tools  and  some  sheets  of  brass. 

Picard  and  Lamoine  were  somewhat  suspicious  of 
their  recruit  at  first,  but  he  went  on  industriously 
with  his  task,  and  made  no  attempt  to  communicate 
with  anybody.  They  soon  saw  that  he  was  an  expert 
workman,  and  a  quiet,  innocent,  half-daft,  harmless 
creature,  so  he  was  given  other  things  to  do,  such  as 
cleaning  up  their  rooms  and  going  errands  for  beer 
and  other  necessities  of  life. 

When  Adolph  finished  his  first  machine,  he  took 
it  down  to  them  and  exhibited  it  with  pardonable 
pride.  There  was  a  dial  on  it  exactly  like  a  clock, 
although  it  had  but  one  hand. 

"  Let  us  see  it  work,"  said  Picard ;  "  set  it  so  that 
the  bell  will  ring  in  three  minutes." 

Adolph  did  as  requested,  and  stood  back  when  the 
machine  began  to  work  with  a  scarcely  audible  tick- 


TRANSFORMATION. 


177 


hat 

the 
■ick. 


tick.  Picard  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  exactly  at  the 
third  ininutw  the  hammer  fell  on  the  bell.  "  That  is 
very  satisfactory,"  said  Picard ;  "  now,  can  you  make 
the  next  one  slightly  concave,  so  that  a  man  may 
strap  it  under  his  coat  without  attracting  attention  ? 
Such  a  shape  is  useful  when  passing  the  Customs." 

"  I  can  make  it  any  shape  you  like,  and  thinner 
than  this  one  if  you  wish  it." 

**  Very  well.  Go  out  and  get  us  a  quart  of  beer,  and 
we  will  drink  to  your  success.     Here  is  the  money." 

Adolph  obeyed  with  his  usual  docility,  staying  out, 
however,  somewhat  longer  than  usual.  Picard,  Im- 
patient at  the  delay,  spoke  roughly  to  him  when  he 
returned,  and  ordered  him  to  go  upstairs  to  his  work. 
Adolph  departed  meekly,  leaving  them  to  their  beer. 

"  See  that  you  understand  that  machine,  Lamoine," 
said  Picard.     "  Set  it  at  half  an  hour." 

Lamoine,  turning  the  hand  to  the  figure  VI  on  the 
dial,  set  the  works  in  motion,  and  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  its  quiet  tick-tick  they  drank  their  beer. 

"  He  seems  to  understand  his  business,"  said  La- 
moine. 

"Yes,"  answered  Picard.  "What  heady  stuff  this 
English  beer  is.  I  wish  we  had  some  good  French 
bock  ;  this  makes  me  drowsy." 

Lamoine  did  not  answer;  he  was  nodding  in  his 
chair.  Picard  threw  himself  down  on  his  mattress  in 
one  corner  of  the  room ;  Lamoine,  when  he  slipped 
from  his  chair,  muttered  an  oath,  and  lay  where  he  fell. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  door  stealthily  opened, 
and  Adolph*s  head  cautiously  reconnoitred  the  situa- 
tion, coming  into  the  silent  apartment  inch  by  inch, 


4  1 


•    *  I 


■'   1 


.!« 


I 


fel: 


!r '  i= 


lii 


11 


178 


REVENGE! 


his  crafty  eyes  rapidly  searching  the  room  and  filling 
with  malicious  glee  when  he  saw  that  everything  was 
as  he  had  planned.  He  entered  quietly  and  closed 
the  door  softly  behind  him.  He  had  a  great  coil  of 
thin  strong  cord  in  his  hand.  Approaching  the  sleep- 
ing men  on  tiptoe,  he  looked  down  on  them  for  a 
moment,  wondering  whether  the  drug  had  done  its 
work  sufficiently  well  for  him  to  proceed.  The  ques- 
tion was  settled  for  him  with  a  suddenness  that  nearly 
unnerved  him.  An  appalling  clang  of  the  bell,  a  start- 
ling sound  that  seemed  loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead, 
made  him  spring  nearly  to  the  ceiling.  He  dropped 
his  rope  and  clung  to  the  door  in  a  panic  of  dread,  his 
palpitating  heart  nearly  suffocating  him  with  its  wild 
beating,  staring  with  affrighted  eyes  at  the  machine 
which  had  given  such  an  unexpected  alarm.  Slowly 
recovering  command  over  himself,  he  turned  his  gaze 
on  the  sleepers:  neither  had  moved;  both  were 
breathing  as  heavily  as  ever. 

Pulling  himself  together,  he  turned  his  attention 
first  to  Picard,  as  the  more  dangerous  man  of  the 
two,  should  an  awakening  come  before  he  was  ready 
for  it.  He  bound  Picard's  wrists  tightly  together; 
then  his  ankles,  his  knees,  and  his  elbows.  He  next 
did  the  same  for  Lamoine.  With  great  effort  he  got 
Picard  in  a  seated  position  on  his  chair,  tying  him 
there  with  coil  after  coil  of  the  cord.  So  anxious  was 
he  to  make  everything  secure,  that  he  somewhat 
overdid  the  business,  making  the  two  seem  like  seated 
mummies  swathed  in  cord.  The  chairs  he  fastened 
immovably  to  the  floor,  then  he  stood  back  and  gazed 
with  a  sigh  at  the  two  grim  seated  figures,  with  their 


TRANSFORMATION. 


179 


:ion 
the 
ady 
ler; 
next 
got 
him 
was 
^^hat 
ated 
ned 
zed 
heir 


heads  drooping   helplessly  forward   on    their    corded 
breasts,  looking  like  silent  effigies  of  the  dead. 

Mopping  his  perspiring  brow,  Adolph  now  turned 
his  attention  to  the  machine  that  had  startled  him  so 
when  he  first  came  in.  He  examined  minutely  its 
mechanism  to  see  that  everything  was  right.  Going 
to  the  cupboard,  he  took  up  a  false  bottom  and  lifted 
carefully  out  a  number  of  dynamite  cartridges  that  the 
two  sleepers  had  stolen  from  a  French  mine.  These 
he  arranged  in  a  battery,  tying  them  together.  He 
raised  the  hammer  of  the  machine,  and  set  the  hand 
so  that  the  blow  would  fall  in  sixty  minutes  after  the 
machinery  was  set  in  motion.  The  whole  deadly 
combination  he  placed  on  a  small  table,  which  he 
shoved  close  in  front  of  the  two  sleeping  men.  Thih 
done,  he  sat  down  on  a  chair  patiently  to  await  the 
awakening.  The  room  was  situated  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  and  was  almost  painfully  still,  not  a  sound 
from  the  street  penetrating  to  it.  The  candle  burnt 
low,  guttered  and  went  out,  but  Adolph  sat  there  and 
did  not  light  another.  The  room  was  still  only  half 
in  darkness,  for  the  moon  shone  brightly  in  at  the 
window,  reminding  Adolph  that  it  was  just  a  month 
since  he  had  looked  out  on  a  moonlit  street  in  Paris, 
while  his  brother  lay  murdered  in  the  room  below. 
The  hours  dragged  along,  and  Adolph  sat  as  immov- 
able as  the  two  figures  before  him.  The  square  of 
moonlight,  slowly  moving,  at  last  illuminated  the 
seated  form  of  Picard,  imperceptibly  climbing  up,  as 
the  moon  sank,  until  it  touched  his  face.  He  threw 
his  head  first  to  one  side,  then  back,  yawned,  drew  a 
deep  breath,  and  tried  to  struggle. 


i 


I 


It'l 


i8o 


REVENGE! 


"  Lamoine/*  he  cried,  "  Adolph.  What  the  devil  is 
this?     I  say,  here.     Help  !     I  am  betrayed." 

"  Hush,"  said  Adolph,  quietly.  "  Do  not  cry  so  loud. 
You  will  wake  Lamoine,  who  is  beside  you.  I  am 
here ;  wait  till  I  light  a  candle,  the  moonlight  is 
waning.'* 

"  Adolph,  you  fiend,  you  are  in  league  with  the 
police." 

**  No,  I  am  not.  I  will  explain  everything  in  a 
moment.  Have  patience."  Adolph  lit  a  candle,  and 
Picard,  rolling  his  eyes,  saw  that  the  slowly  awakening 
Lamoine  was  bound  like  himself. 

Lamoine,  glaring  at  his  partner  and  not  under- 
standing what  had  happened,  hissed — 

"You  have  turned  traitor,  Picard;  you  have  in- 
formed, curse  you ! "  .  •' 

**  Keep  quiet,  you  fool.  Don't  you  see  I  am  bound 
as  tightly  as  you  ?  " 

"There  has  been  no  traitor  and  no  informing,  nor 
need  of  any.  A  month  ago  to-night,  Picard,  there 
was  blown  into  eternity  a  good  and  honest  man,  who 
never  harmed  you  or  any  one.  I  am  his  brother.  I 
am  Adolph  Delore,  who  refused  to  make  your  infernal 
machine  for  you.  I  am  much  changed  since  then ; 
but  perhaps  now  you  recognise  me  ?  " 

"  I  swear  to  God,"  cried  Picard,  "  that  I  did  not  do 
it.  I  was  in  London  at  the  time.  I  can  prove  it. 
There  is  no  use  in  handing  me  over  to  the  police,  even 
though,  perhaps,  you  think  you  can  terrorise  this  poor 
wretch  into  lying  against  me." 

"  Pray  to  the  God,  whose  name  you  so  lightly  use, 
that  the  police  you  fear  may  get  you  before  I  have 


TRANSFORMATION. 


i8i 


il  is 

3ud. 

am 

t    is 

the 

in  a 
,  and 
^ning 

inder- 

^e   in- 

Dound 

g,  nor 
there 

1,  who 

er.     I 

fernal 

then ; 

[not  do 
love  it. 
|e,  even 
Lis  poor 

tly  use, 
I  have 


done  with  you.  In  the  police,  strange  as  it  may  sound 
to  you,  is  your  only  hope  ;  but  they  will  have  to  come 
quickly  if  they  are  to  save  you.  Picard,  you  have 
lived,  perhaps,  thirty-five  years  on  this  earth.  The 
next  hour  of  your  life  will  be  longer  to  you  than  all 
these  years." 

Adolph  put  the  percussion  cap  in  its  place  and 
started  the  mechanism.  For  a  few  moments  its  quiet 
tick-tick  was  the  only  sound  heard  in  the  room,  the 
two  bound  men  staring  with  wide-open  eyes  at  the 
dial  of  the  clock,  while  the  whole  horror  of  their 
position  slowly  broke  upon  them. 

Tick-tick,  tick-tick,  tick-tick,  tick-tick,  tick-tick, 
tick-tick.  Each  man's  face  paled,  and  rivulets  of  sweat 
ran  down  from  their  brows.  Suddenly  Picard  raised 
his  voice  in  an  unearthly  shriek. 

"  I  expected  that,"  said  Adolph,  quietly.  "  I  don't 
think  anyone  can  hear,  but  I  will  gag  you  both,  so 
that  no  risks  may  be  run."  When  this  was  done,  he 
said:  *' I  have  set  the  clockwork  at  sixty  minutes; 
seven  of  those  are  already  spent.  There  is  still  time 
enough  left  for  meditation  and  repentance.  I  place 
the  candle  here  so  that  its  rays  will  shine  upon  the 
dial.  When  you  have  made  your  own  peace,  pray  for 
the  souls  of  any  you  have  sent  into  eternity  without 
time  *^r  preparation." 

Deiore  left  the  room  as  softly  as  he  had  entered  it, 
and  the  doomed  men  tried  ineffectually  to  cry  out  as 
they  heard  the  key  turning  in  the  door. 

The  authorities  knew  that  someone  had  perished  in 
that  explosion,  but  whether  it  was  one  man  or  two 
thcv  could  not  tell. 


W '"  ^ 


f  1 


ill 


i  I 


,  I 


i  ii 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK. 

Hickory  Sam  needed  but  one  quality  to  be  per- 
fect. He  should  have  been  an  arrant  coward.  He 
was  a  blustering  braggart,  always  boasting  of  the  men 
he  had  slain,  and  the  odds  he  had  contended  against ; 
filled  with  stories  of  his  own  valour,  but  alas !  he  shot 
straight,  and  rarely  missed  his  mark,  unless  he  was 
drunker  than  usual.  It  would  have  been  delightful  to 
tell  how  this  unmitigated  ruffian  had  been  "held  up" 
by  some  innocent  tenderfoot  from  the  East,  and  made 
to  dance  at  the  muzzle  of  a  quite  new  and  daintily  or- 
namented revolver,  for  the  loud-mouthed  blowhard 
seemed  just  the  man  to  flinch  when  real  danger  con- 
fronted him  ;  but,  sad  to  say,  there  was  nothing  of  the 
wh'te  feather  about  Hickory  Sam,  for  he  '"eared  neither 
man,  nor  gun,  nor  any  combination  of  them.  He  was 
as  ready  to  fight  a  dozen  as  one,  and  once  had  actually 
**  held, up"  the  United  States  army  at  Fort  Concho, 
beating  a  masterly  retreat  backwards  with  his  face  to 
the  foe,  holding  a  troop  in  check  with  his  two  seven- 
shooters  that  seemed  to  point  in  every  direction  at 
once,  making  every  man  in  the  company  feel,  with  a 
shiver  up  his  back,  that  he  individually  was  '*  covered," 
and  would  be  the  first  to  drop  if  firing  actually  began. 

Hickory  Sam  appeared  suddenly  in  Salt  Lick,  and 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  183 


red," 
and 


speedily  made  good  his  claim  to  be  the  bad  man  of 
the  district.  Some  old-timers  disputed  Sam's  arrogant 
contention,  but  they  did  not  live  long  enough  to 
maintain  their  own  well-earned  reputations  as  objec- 
tionable citizens.  Thus  Hickory  Sam  reigned  supreme 
in  Salt  Lick,  and  every  one  in  the  place  was  willing 
and  eager  t  stand  treat  to  Sam,  or  to  drink  with  him 
when  invited. 

Sam's  chief  place  of  resort  in  Salt  Lick  was  the 
Hades  Saloon,  kept  by  Mike  Davlin.  Mike  had  not 
originally  intended  this  to  be  the  title  of  his  bar,  hav- 
ing at  first  named  it  after  a  little  liquor  cellar  he  kept 
in  his  early  days  in  Philadelphia,  called  "  The 
Shades,"  but  some  cowboy  humourist,  particular  about 
the  external  fitness  of  things,  had  scraped  out  the 
letter  *'  S,"  and  so  the  sign  over  the  door  had  been 
allowed  to  remain.  Mike  did  not  grumble.  He  had 
taken  a  keen  interest  in  politics  in  Philadelphia,  but 
an  unexpected  spasm  of  civic  virtue  having  overtaken 
the  city  some  years  before,  Davlin  had  been  made  a 
victim,  and  he  was  forced  to  leave  suddenly  for  the 
West,  where  there  was  no  politics,  and  where  a  man 
handy  at  mixing  drinks  was  looked  upon  as  a  boon 
by  the  rest  of  the  community.  Mike  did  not  grumble 
when  even  the  name  "  Hades  "  failed  to  satisfy  the 
boys  in  their  thirst  for  appropriate  nomenclature,  and 
when  they  took  to  calling  the  place  by  a  shorter  and 
terser  synonym  beginning  with  the  same  letter,  he 
made  no  objections. 

Mike  was  an  adaptive  man,  who  mixed  drinks,  but 
did  not  mix  in  rows.  He  protected  himself  by  not 
keeping  a  revolver,  and  by   admitting  that  he   could 


■n 


>       !i| 


184 


REVENGE! 


«|ji!l 


not  hit  his  own  saloon  at  twenty  yards  distance. 
A  residence  in  the  quiet  city  of  Philadelphia  is  not 
conducive  to  the  nimbling  of  the  trigger  finger. 
When  the  boys  in  the  exuberance  of  their  spirits  be- 
gan to  shoot,  Mike  promptly  ducked  under  his  counter 
and  waited  till  the  clouds  of  smoke  rolled  by.  He 
sent  in  a  bill  for  broken  glass,  bottles,  and  the  damage 
generally,  when  his  guests  were  sober  again,  and  his 
accounts  were  always  paid.  Mike  was  a  deservedly 
popular  citizen  in  Salt  Lick,  and  might  easily  have 
been  elected  to  the  United  States  Congress,  if  he  had 
dared  to  go  east  again.  But,  as  he  himself  said,  he 
was  out  of  politics. 

It  was  the  pleasant  custom  of  the  cowboys  at  Bul- 
ler's  ranch  to  come  into  Salt  Lick  on  pay-days  and 
close  up  the  town.  These  periodical  visits  did  little 
harm  to  any  one,  and  seemed  to  be  productive  of 
much  amusement  for  the  boys.  They  rode  at  full 
gallop  through  the  one  street  of  the  place  like  a  troop 
of  cavalry,  yelling  at  the  top  of  their  voices  and  bran- 
dishing their  weapons. 

The  first  raid  through  Salt  Lick  was  merely  a  warn- 
ing, and  all  peaceably  inclined  inhabitants  took  it  as 
such,  retiring  forthwith  to  the  seclusion  of  their  houses. 
On  their  return  trip  the  boys  winged  or  lamed,  with 
unerring  aim,  any  one  found  in  the  street.  They 
seldom  killed  a  wayfarer ;  if  a  fatality  ensued  it  was 
usually  the  result  of  accident,  and  much  to  the  regret 
of  the  boys,  who  always  apologised  handsomely  to  the 
surviving  relatives,  which  expression  of  regret  was 
generally  received  in  the  amicable  spirit  with  which 
it  was  tendered.     There  was  none  of  the  rancour  of 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  185 


ince. 
5  not 
iger. 
s  be- 
anter 
He 
mage 
d  his 
vedly 
have 
e  had 
id,  he 


t  Bul- 
s  and 
.  little 
Ive  of 
t  full 
troop 
bran- 

warn- 
it  as 

louses. 
,  with 
They 
it  was 
regret 
to  the 

let  was 

which 

:our  of 


the  vendetta  in  these  little  encounters  ;  if  a  man  hap- 
pened to  be  blotted  out,  it  was  his  ill  luck,  that  was 
all,  and  there  was  rarely  any  thought  of  reprisal. 

This  perhaps  was  largely  due  to  the  fact  that  the 
community  was  a  shifting  one,  and  few  had  any  near 
relatives  about  them,  for,  although  the  victim  might 
have  friends,  they  seldom  held  him  in  such  esteem  as 
to  be  willing  to  take  up  his  quarrel  when  there  was 
a  bullet  hole  through  him.  Relatives,  however,  are 
often  more  difficult  to  deal  with  than  are  friends,  in 
cases  of  sudden  death,  and  this  fact  was  recognised  by 
Hickory  Sam,  who,  when  he  was  compelled  to  shoot 
the  younger  Holt  brother  in  Mike's  saloon,  promptly 
went,  at  some  personal  inconvenience,  and  assassinated 
the  elder,  before  John  Holt  heard  the  news.  As  Sam 
explained  to  Mike  when  he  returned,  he  had  no  quar- 
rel with  John  Holt,  but  merely  killed  him  in  the  inter- 
ests of  peace,  for  he  would  have  been  certain  to  draw 
and  probably  shoot  several  citizens  when  he  heard  of 
his  brother's  death,  because,  for  some  unexplained 
reason,  the  brothers  were  fond  of  each  other. 

When  Hickory  Sam  was  comparatively  new  to  Salt 
Lick  he  allowed  the  Buller's  ranch  gang  to  close  up 
the  town  without  opposition.  It  was  their  custom, 
when  the  capital  of  Coyote  county  had  been  closed 
up  to  their  satisfaction,  to  adjourn  to  Hades  and 
there  *'  blow  in  "  their  hard-earned  gain's  on  the  liquor 
Mike  furnished.  They  also  added  to  the  decorations 
of  the  saloon  ceiling.     Several  cowboys  had  a  gift  of 

'    ■    "'■     '  '         "Hes  around  the 

azzle  momenta. 


lo- 


mger 


»g 


flying 


"m 


f  1 


,i 


:l 


H 


w 


rily  pointed  upwards.     The  man  who  could  put  the 


n 


11" 


1 86 


REVENGE 


fi  l;i  i 


''I 


most  bullets  within  the  smallest  space  in  the  root 
was  the  expert  of  the  occasion,  and  didn't  have  to  pay 
for  his  drinks. 

This  exhibition  might  have  made  many  a  man  quail, 
but  it  had  no  effect  on  Hickory  Sam,  who  leant  against 
the  bar  and  sneered  at  the  show  as  child's  play. 

''  Perhaps  you  think  you  can  do  it,"  cried  the 
champion.     "  I  bet  you  the  drinks  you  can't." 

"  I  don't  have  to,"  said  Hickory  Sam,  with  the  calm 
dignity  of  a  dead  shot.  "  I  don't  have  to,  but  I'll  tell 
you  what  I  can  do.  I  can  nip  the  heart  of  a  man 
with  this  here  gun,"  showing  his  seven-shooter,  *'  me 
a-standing  in  Hades  here  and  he  a-coming  out  of  the 
bank."  For  Salt  Lick,  being  a  progressive  town,  had 
the  Coyote  County  Bank  some  distance  down  the 
street  on  the  opposite  side  from  the  saloon. 

"You're  a  liar,"  roared  the  champion,  whereupon 
all  the  boys  grasped  their  guns  and  were  on  the  look 
out  for  trouble. 

Hickory  Sam  merely  laughed,  strode  to  the  door, 
threw  it  open,  and  walked  out  to  the  middle  of  the 
deserted  thoroughfare. 

"  I'm  a  bad  man  from  Way  Back,"  he  yelled  at  the 
top  of  his  voice.  "  I'm  the  toughest  cuss  in  Coyote 
county,  and  no  darned  greasers  from  Buller'scan  close 
up  this  town  when  I'm  in  it.  You  hear  me  !  Salt 
Lick's  wide  open,  and  I'm  standing  in  the  street  to 
prove  it."  • 

It  was  bad  enough  to  have  the  town  declared  open 
when  fifteen  of  them  in  a  body  had  proclaimed  it 
closed,  but  in  addition  to  this  to  be  called  ''  greasers  " 
was  an  insult  not  to  be  borne.     A  cowboy  despises  a 


J 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.   187 


Mexican  almost  as  much  as  he  docs  an  Indian.  With 
a  soul-terrifying  yell  the  fifteen  were  out  of  the  saloon 
and  on  their  horses  like  a  cyclone.  They  went  down 
the  street  with  tornado  speed,  wheeling  about,  some 
distance  below  the  temporarily  closed  bank,  and, 
charging  up  again  at  full  gallop,  fired  repeatedly  in 
the  direction  of  Hickory  Sam,  who  was  crouching  be- 
hind an  empty  whiskey  barrel  in  front  of  the  saloon 
with  a  ''  gun  "  in  either  hand. 

Sam  made  good  his  contention  by  nipping  the 
heart  of  the  champion  when  opposite  the  bank,  who 
plunged  forward  on  his  face  and  threw  the  cavalcade 
into  confusion.  Then  Sam  stood  up,  and  regardless 
of  the  scattering  shots,  fired  with  both  revolvers,  kill- 
ing the  foremost  man  of  the  troop  and  slaughtering 
three  horses,  which  instantly  changed  the  charge  into 
a  rout.  He  then  retired  to  Hades  and  barricaded  the 
door.     Mike  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

But  the  boys  knew  when  they  had  enough.  They 
made  no  attack  on  the  saloon,  but  picked  up  their 
dead,  and,  thoroughly  sobered,  made  their  way,  much 
more  slowly  than  they  came,  back  to  Buller's  ranch. 

When  it  was  evident  that  they  had  gone,  Mike 
cautiously  emerged  from  his  place  of  retirement,  as 
Sam  was  vigorously  pounding  on  the  bar,  threatening 
that  if  a  drink  were  not  forthcoming  he  would  go 
round  behind  the  bar  and  help  himself. 

"  I'm  a  law  and  order  man,"  he  explained  to  Davlin, 
"and  I  won't  have  no  toughs  from  Buller's  ranch  close 
up  this  town  and  interfere  with  commerce.  Every 
man  has  got  to  respect  the  Constitution  of  the  United 
States  as  long  as  my  gun  can  bark,  you  bet  your  life  !  " 


'H    ! 


i-- 


1 88 


revp:nge 


ij 


Mike  hurriedly  adir  tted  that  he  was  perfectly  right, 
and  asked  him  what  he  would  have,  forgetting  in  his 
agitation  that  Sam  took  one  thing  only,  and  that  one 
thing  straight. 

Next  day  old  BuUer  himself  came  in  from  his  ranch 
to  see  if  anything  could  be  done  about  this  latest  af- 
fray. It  was  bad  enough  to  lose  two  of  his  best  herds- 
men in  a  foolish  contest  of  this  kind,  but  to  have 
three  trained  horses  killed  ai  well,  was  disgusting. 
Buller  had  been  one  of  the  boys  himself  in  his  young 
days,  but  now,  having  grown  wealthy  in  the  cattle 
business,  he  was  anxious  to  see  civilisation  move 
westward  with  strides  a  little  more  rapid  than  it  was 
taking.  He  [made  the  mistake  of  appealing  to  the 
Sheriff,  as  if  that  worthy  man  could  be  expected,  for 
the  small  salary  he  received,  to  attempt  the  arrest  of 
so  dead  a  shot  as  Hickory  Sam. 

Besides,  as  the  Sheriff  quite  correctly  pointed  out, 
the  boys  themselves  had  been  the  aggressors  in  the 
first  place,  and  if  fifteen  of  them  could  not  take  care 
of  one  man  behind  an  empty  whiskey  barrel,  they  had 
better  remain  peaceably  at  home  in  the  future,  and  do 
their  pistol  practice  in  the  quiet,  innocuous  retirement 
of  a  shooting  gallery.  They  surely  could  not  expect 
the  strong  arm  of  the  law,  in  the  person  of  a  peaceably- 
minded  Sheriff,  to  reach  out  and  pull  their  chestnuts 
from  the  fire  when  several  of  them  had  already  burned 
their  fingers,  and  when  the  chestnuts  shot  and  drank 
as  straight  as  Hickoiy  Sam. 

Buller,  finding  the  executive  portion  of  the  law 
slow  and  reluctant  to  move,  sought  advice  from  his 
own  lawyer,  the  one  disciple  of  Coke-upon-Littleton 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  189 


in  the  place.  The  lawyer  doubted  if  there  was  any 
legal  remedy  in  the  then  condition  of  society  around 
Salt  Lick.  The  safest  plan  perhaps  would  be — mind, 
he  did  not  advise,  but  merely  suggested — to  surround 
Hickory  Sam  and  wipe  him  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
This  might  not  be  strictly  according  to  law,  but  it 
would  be  effective,  if  carried  out  without  an  error. 

The  particulars  of  Buller's  interview  with  the  Sheriff 
spread  rapidly  in  Salt  Lick,  and  caused  great  indigna- 
tion among  the  residents  thereof,  especially  those  who 
frequented  Hades.  It  was  a  reproach  to  the  place 
that  the  law  should  be  invoked,  all  on  account  of 
a  trivial  incident  like  that  of  the  day  before.  Sam, 
who  had  been  celebrating  his  victory  at  Mike's,  heard 
the  news  with  bitter,  if  somewhat  silent  resentment, 
for  he  had  advanced  so  far  in  his  cups  that  he  was 
all  but  speechless.  Being  a  magnanimous  man,  he 
would  have  been  quite  content  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones,  but  this  unjustifiable  action  of  Buller's 
required  prompt  and  effectual  chastisement.  He 
would  send  the  wealthy  ranchman  to  keep  company 
with  his  slaughtered  herdsmen. 

Thus  it  was  that  when  Buller  mounted  his  horse 
after  his  futile  visit  to  the  lawyer,  he  found  Hickory 
Sam  holding  the  street  with  his  guns.  The  fusillade 
that  followed  was  without  result,  which  disappointing 
termination  is  accounted  for  by  the  fact  that  Sam 
was  exceedingly  drunk  at  the  time,  and  the  ranchman 
was  out  of  practice.  Seldom  had  Salt  Lick  seen  so 
much  powder  burnt  with  no  damage  except  to  the 
window-glass  in  the  vicinity.  Buller  went  back  to  the 
lawyer's  office,  and   afterwards  had  an   interview  with 


:     I 


■  V 

■  u 


■•1  ]  r< 
i-A 


IQO 


REVENGE! 


the  bank  manager.  Then  he  got  quietly  out  of 
town  unmolested,  for  Sam,  weeping  on  Mike's  shoulder 
over  the  inaccuracy  of  his  aim,  gradually  sank  to 
sleep  in  a  corner  of  the  saloon. 

Next  morning,  when  Sam  woke  to  temporar\' 
sobriety,  he  sent  word  to  the  ranch  that  he  would 
shoot  old  Buller  on  sight,  and,  at  the  same  time,  he 
apologised  for  the  previous  eccentricities  of  his  fire, 
promising  that  such  an  annoying  exhibition  should 
not  occur  again.  He  signed  himself  "The  Terror  of 
Salt  Lick,  and  the  Champion  of  La      uid  Order." 

It  was  rumoured  that  old  Buller,  when  he  returned 
to  the  lawyer's  office,  had  made  his  will,  and  that  the 
bank  manager  had  witnessed  it.  This  supposed  action 
of  Buller  was  taken  as  a  most  delicate  compliment  to 
Hickory  Sam's  determination  and  -marksmanship,  and 
he  was  justly  proud  of  the  work  he  had  thrown  into 
the  lawyer's  hands. 

A  week  passed  before  old  Buller  came  to  Salt  Lick, 
but  when  he  came.  Hickory  Sam  was  waiting  for  him, 
and  this  time  the  desperado  was  not  drunk,  that  is  to 
say,  he  had  not  had  more  than  half  a  dozen  glasses  of 
forty  rod  that  morning. 

When  the  rumour  came  to  Hades  that  old  Buller 
was  approaching  the  town  on  horseback  and  alone, 
Sam  at  once  bet  the  drinks  that  he  would  fire  but  one 
shot,  and  so,  in  a  measure,  atone  for  the  ineffectual 
racket  he  had  made  on  the  occasion  of  the  previous 
encounter.  The  crowd  stood  by,  in  safe  places,  to 
see  the  result  of  the  duel. 

Sam,  a  cocked  revolver  in  his  right  hand,  stood 
squarely  in  the  centre  of  the  s^-^-eet,  with  the  sturdy 


III! 


:  of 

Ider 
:   to 


t  ',1 

t 


rarv 
ouUl 
e,  he 
fire, 
lould 
or  of 

arned 
It  the 
iction 
ent  to 
p,  and 
n  into 

Lick, 
•r  hhn, 
Lt  is  to 
Isses  of 

iBuUer 
alone, 
lut  one 
Fectual 
levious 
;s,    to 

stood 
Isturdy 


\-^y^  i 


SAM    I.()()Ki:i)   SAVAC.ICI.V    AKUINI)    1 11  .M .  -  ^  Vf^',     H)l . 


■\\\ 


1 

i 

5 

I 

i' 

\ 

■|i 

1 

ill 

THE  SHADOW  OF  TKK  GkEKNHACK.   uji 

bearing  of  one  who  has  his  quarrel  just,  and  who  be- 
sides can  pierce  the  ace  spot  on  a  card  ten  yards  fur- 
ther away  than  any  other  man  in  the  county. 

Old  Buller  came  riding  up  the  street  as  calmly  as 
if  he  were  on  his  own  ranch.  When  almost  within 
range  of  Sam's  pistol,  the  old  man  raised  both  hands 
above  his  head,  letting  the  »-eins  fall  on  the  horse's 
neck.  In  this  extraordinary  attitude  he  rode  forward, 
to  the  amazement  of  the  crowd  and  the  evident  em- 
barrassment of  Sam. 

"  I  am  not  armed,"  the  old  man  shouted.  **  I  have, 
come  to  talk  this  thing  over  and  settle  it." 

"  It's  too  late  for  talk,"  yelled  Sam,  infuriated  at 
the  prospect  of  missing  his  victim  after  all ;  "pull 
your  gun,  old  man,  and  shoot." 

"  I  haven't  got  a  gun  on  me,"  said  Buller,  still  ad- 
vancing, and  still  holding  up  his  hands. 

"  That  trick's  played  out,"  shouted  Sam,  flinging  up 
his  right  hand  and  firing. 

The  old  man,  with  hands  above  his  head,  leant 
slowly  forward  like  a  falling  tower,  then  pitched  head 
foremost  from  his  horse  to  the  ground,  where  he  lay 
without  a  struggle,  face  down  and  arms  spread  out. 

Great  as  was  the  fear  of  the  desperado,  an  involun- 
tary cry  of  horror  went  up  from  the  crowd.  Killing 
is  all  right  and  proper  in  its  way,  but  the  shooting  of 
an  unarmed  man  who  voluntarily  held  up  his  hands 
and  kept  them  up,  was  murder,  even  on  the  plains. 

Sam  looked  savagely  round  him,  glaring  at  the 
crowd  that  shrank  away  from  him,  the  smoking  pistol 
hanging  muzzle  downward  from  his  hand. 

*'  It's   all   a   trick.     He  had  a  shooting-iron   in  his 


^t 


.  I' 


V 


•«  I" 


192 


REVKNGE! 


boot.     I  sec  the  butt  of  it  sticking  out.     That's  why  I 
fired." 

"  I'm  not  saying  nothin',"  said  Mike,  as  the  fierce 
glance  of  Hickory  rested  on  him,  "  'tain't  any  affair  of 
mine." 

"Yes,  it  is,"  cried  Hickory, 

"  Why,  I  didn't  have  nothin'  to  do  with  it,"  pro- 
tested the  saloon  keeper. 

*  No.  But  you've  got  somethin'  to  do  with  it  now. 
What  did  we  elect  you  coroner  fur,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
You've  got  to  hustle  around  and  panel  your  jury  an* 
bring  in  a  verdict  of  accidental  death  or  something  of 
that  sort.  Bring  any  sort  or  kind  of  verdict  that'll 
save  trouble  in  future.  I  believe  in  law  and  order,  I 
do,  an'  I  like  to  see  things  done  regular." 

**  But  we  didn't  have  no  jury  for  them  cowboys,"  said 
Mike. 

"Well,  cowboys  is  different.  It  didn't  so  much 
matter  about  them.  Still,  it  oughter  been  done,  even 
with  cowboys,  if  we  were  more'n  half  civilised. 
Nothin'  like  havin'  things  down  on  the  record  straight 
and  shipshape.  Now  some  o'  you  fellows  help  me  in 
with  the  body,  and  Mike'll  panel  his  jury  in  three 
shakes." 

There  is  nothing  like  an  energetic  public-spirited 
man  for  reducing  chaos  to  order.  Things  began  to 
assume  their  normal  attitude,  and  the  crowd  began  to 
look  to  Sam  for  instruction.  He  seemed  to  [under- 
stand the  etiquette  of  these  occasions,  and  those  pres- 
ent felt  that  they  were  ignorant  and  inexperienced 
compared  with  him. 

The  body  was  laid  out  on  a  bench  in  the  room  at 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK,  uj^ 

the  back  of  the  saloon,  while  the  jury  and  the  specta- 
tors were  accommodated  with  such  seats  as  the  place 
afforded,  Hickory  Sam  himself  taking  an  elevated 
position  on  the  top  of  a  barrel,  where  he  could,  as  it 
were,  preside  over  the  arrangements.  It  was  vaguely 
felt  by  those  present  that  Sam  bore  no  malice  towards 
the  deceased,  and  this  was  put  down  rather  to  his 
credit. 

"  I  think,"  said  the  coroner,  looking  hesi.atingly  up 
at  Sam,  wit.'  an  expression  which  showed  he  was 
quite  prepared  to  withdraw  his  proposal  if  it  should 
prove  inappropriate,  "  I  think  we  might  have  the 
lawyer  over  here.  He  knows  how  these  things  should 
be  done,  and  he's  the  only  man  in  Salt  Lick  that's  got 
a  Bible  to  swear  the  jury  on.  I  think  they  ought  to 
be  sworn." 

"  That's  a  good  idea,"  concurred  Sam.  **  One  of  you 
run  across  for  him,  and  tell  him  to  bring  the  book. 
Nothing  like  havin'  these  things  regular  and  proper 
and  accordin'  to  law." 

The  lawyer  had  heard  of  the  catastrophe,  and  he 
came  promptly  over  to  the  saloon,  bringing  the  book 
with  him  and  some  papers  in  his  hand.  There  was 
now  no  doubt  about  Sam's  knowledge  of  the  proper 
thing  to  do,  when  it  was  found  that  the  lawyer  quite 
agreed  with  him  that  an  inquest,  under  the  circum- 
stances, was  justifiable  and  according  to  precedent. 
The  jury  found  that  the  late  Mr.  Bullcr  had  "died 
through  misadventure,"  which  phrase,  sarcastically 
suggested  by  the  lawyer  when  he  found  that  the 
verdict  was  going  to  be  "  accidental  death,"  pleased 
liic  jury,  who  at  once  adopted  it. 


■J^:^ 


.1 


Ni 


I  ] 
■ 

■  ji 
i 

■'1 


I'  V 


¥ 


! 


194 


REVENGE 


When  the  proceedings  were  so  pleasantly  termi- 
nated by  a  verdict  acceptable  to  all  parties,  the  lawyer 
cleared  his  throat  and  said  that  his  late  client,  having 
perhaps  a  premonition  of  his  fate,  had  recently  made 
hJs  will,  and  he  had  desired  the  lawyer  to  make  the 
will  public  as  soon  as  possible  after  his  death.  As  the 
occasion  seemed  in  every  way  suitable,  the  lawyer 
proposed,  with  the  permission  of  the  coroner,  to  read 
that  portion  which  Mr.  Buller  hoped  would  receive 
the  widest  possible  publicity. 

Mike  glanced  with  indecision  at  the  lawyer  and  at 
Sam  sitting  high  above  the  crowd  on  the  barrel. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Hickory.  "We'd  all  like  to  hear 
the  will,  although  I  suppose  it's  none  of  our  busi- 
ness." 

The  lawyer  made  no  comment  on  this  remark,  but 
bowing  to  the  assemblage,  unfolded  a  paper  and  read 
it. 

Mr.  ')uller  left  all  his  property  to  his  nephew  in  the 
East  with  the  exception  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  in 
greenbacks,  then  deposited  in  the  Coyote  County 
Bank  at  Salt  Lick.  The  testator  had  reason  to  sus- 
pect that  a  desperado  named  Hickory  Sam  (real  name 
or  designation  unknown)  had  designs  on  the  testator's 
life.  In  case  these  designs  were  successful,  the  whole 
cf  this  money  was  to  go  to  the  person  or  persons  who 
succeeded  in  removing  this  scoundrel  from  the  face  of 
the  earth.  In  case  the  Sheriff  arrested  the  said 
Hickory  Sam  and  he  was  tried  and  executed,  the 
money  was  to  be  divided  between  the  Sheriff  and 
those  who  assisted  in  the  capture.  If  any  man  on  his 
own  responsibility  shot  and  killed  the  said   Hickory 


IF 


>rv 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.   195 

Sam,  the  fifty  thousand  dollars  became  his  sole  prop- 
erty, and  would  be  handed  over  to  him  by  the  bank 
manager,  in  whom  Mr.  Buller  expressed  every  confi- 
dence, as  soon  as  the  slayer  of  Hickory  Sam  proved 
the  deed  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  manager.  In  every 
case  the  bank  manager  had  full  control  of  the  disposal 
of  the  fund,  and  could  pay  it  in  bulk,  or  divide  it 
among  those  who  had  succeeded  in  eliminating  from 
a  contentious  world  one  of  its  most  contentious 
members. 

The  amazed  silence  which  followed  the  reading  of 
this  document  was  broken  by  a  loud  jeering  and 
defiant  laugh  from  the  man  on  the  barrel.  He 
laughed  long,  but  no  one  joined  him,  and  as  he 
noticed  this,  his  hilarity  died  down,  being  in  ;a  meas- 
ure forced  and  mechanical.  The  lawyer  methodically 
folded  up  his  papers.  As  some  of  the  jury  glanced 
down  at  the  face  of  the  dead  man  who  had  originated 
this  financial  scheme  of  post  inortcm  vengeance,  they 
almost  fancied  they  saw  a  malicious  leer  about  the  half- 
open  eyes  and  lips.  An  awed  whisper  ran  round  the 
assemblage.  Elach  man  said  to  the  other  under  his 
breath  :  "  Fif— ty— thous — and — dollars,"  as  if  the 
dwelling  on  each  syllable  made  the  total  seem  larger. 
The  same  thought  was  in  every  man's  mind  ;  a  clean, 
cool  little  fortune  merely  for  the  crooking  of  a  fore- 
finger and  the  correct  levelling  of  a  pistol  barrel. 

The  lawyer  had  silently  taken  his  departure.  Sam, 
soberer  than  he  had  been  for  many  days,  slid  down 
from  the  barrel,  and,  with  his  hand  on  the  butt  of  his 
gun,  sidled,  his  back  against  the  wall,  towards  the 
door.     No  one   raised   a  finger  to  stop  him  ;  all   sat 


1 1 

I 


'■ri 


II 


m 


ill  ',  '■ 
i  > 


m 


I  [ 


196 


REVENGE! 


there  watching  him  as  if  they  were  hypnotised.  He 
was  no  longer  a  man  in  their  eyes,  but  the  embodi- 
ment of  a  sum  to  be  earned  in  a  moment,  for  which 
thousands  worked  hard  all  their  lives,  often  in  vain,  to 
accumulate. 

Sam's  brain  on  a  problem  was  not  so  quick  as  his 
finger  on  a  trigger,  but  it  began  to  filter  slowly  into 
his  mind  that  he  was  now  face  to  face  with  a  danger 
against  which  his  pistol  was  powerless.  Heretofore, 
roughly  speaking,  nearly  everybody  had  been  his 
friend ;  now  the  hand  of  the  world  was  against  him, 
with  a  most  powerful  motive  for  being  against  him  ; 
a  motive  which  he  himself  could  understand.  For  a 
mere  fraction  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  he  would  kill 
anybody,  so  long  as  the  deed  could  be  done  with 
reasonable  safety  to  himself.  Why  then  should  any 
man  stay  his  hand  against  him  with  such  a  reward  hang- 
ing over  his  head  ?  As  Sam  retreated  backwards  from 
among  his  former  friends  they  saw  in  his  eyes  what 
they  had  never  seen  there  before,  something  that  was 
not  exactly  fear,  but  a  look  of  furtive  suspicion  against 
the  whole  human  race. 

Out  in  the  open  air  once  again  Sam  breathed  more 
freely.  He  must  get  away  from  Salt  Lick,  and  that 
quickly.  Once  on  the  prairie  he  could  make  up  his 
mind  what  the  next  move  was  to  be.  He  kept  his 
revolver  in  his  hand,  not  daring  to  put  it  into  its 
holster.  Every  sound  made  him  jump,  and  he  was 
afraid  to  stand  in  the  open,  yet  he  could  not  remain 
constantly  with  his  back  to  the  wall.  Poor  Buller's 
horse,  fully  accoutred,  cropped  the  grass  by  the  side 
of  the  road.     To  be  a  horse-thief  was,  of  course,  worse 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  19; 


than  to  be  a  murderer,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it ; 
without  the  horse  escape  was  impossible.  He  secured 
the  animal  with  but  little  trouble,  and  sprang  upon  its 
back. 

As  he  mounted,  a  shot  rang  out  from  the  saloon. 
Sam  whirled  around  in  the  saddle,  but  no  one  was  to 
be  seen ;  nothing  but  a  thin  film  of  pistol  smoke 
melting  in  the  air  above  the  open  door.  The  rider 
fired  twice  into  the  empty  doorway,  then,  with  a  threat, 
turned  towards  the  open  country  and  galloped  away, 
and  Salt  Lick  was  far  behind  him  when  night  fell. 
He  tethered  his  horse  and  threw  himself  down  on  the 
grass,  but  dared  not  sleep.  For  all  he  knew,  his 
pursuers  might  be  within  a  few  rods  of  where  he  lay, 
for  he  was  certain  they  would  be  on  his  trail  as  soon 
as  they  knew  he  had  left  Salt  Lick.  The  prize  was 
too  great  for  no  effort  to  be  made  to  secure  it. 

There  is  an  enemy  before  whom  the  strongest  and 
bravest  man  must  succumb  ;  that  enemy  is  sleepless- 
ness. When  daylight  found  the  desperado,  he  had 
not  closed  an  eye  all  night.  His  nerve  was  gone, 
and,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  felt  a 
thrill  of  fear.  The  emptiness  of  the  prairie,  which 
should  have  encouraged  him,  struck  a  chill  of  loneli- 
ness into  him,  and  he  longed  for  the  sight  of  a  man, 
even  though  he  might  have  to  fight  him  when  he 
approached.  He  must  have  a  comrade,  he  said  to 
himself,  if  he  could  find  any  human  being  in  straits 
as  terrible  as  his  own,  some  one  who  would  keep 
watch  and  watch  with  him  through  the  night ;  but 
the  comrade  must  either  be  ignorant  of  the  weight  of 
money  that  hung  over  the  desperado's  head,  or   there 


'If 


ms^m 


mm» 


|i  lliii 


t 


198 


REVENGE! 


must  be  a  price  on  his  own.  An  innocent  man  would 
not  see  the  use  of  keeping  such  st^-ict  watch ;  a  guilty 
man,  on  learning  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  would 
sell  Sam's  life  to  purchase  his  own  freedom.  Fifty 
thousand  dollars,  in  the  desperado's  mind,  would  do 
anything,  and  yet  he  himself,  of  all  the  sixty  million 
people  in  the  land,  was  the  only  one  who  could  not 
earn  it !  A  comrade,  then,  innocent  or  guilty,  was 
impossible,  and  yet  was  absolutely  necessary  if  the 
wanderer  was  to  have  sleej). 

The  horse  was  in  distress  through  lack  of  water, 
and  Sam  himself  was  both  hungry  and  thirsty.  His 
next  halting-place  must  be  near  a  stream,  yet  perhaps 
his  safety  during  the  first  night  was  due  to  the  fact 
that  his  pursuers  would  naturally  have  looked  for  him 
near  some  watercourse,  and  not  on  the  open  prairie. 

Ten  days  later,  Mike  Davlin  was  awakened  at  three 
in  the  morning,  to  find  standing  by  his  bed  a  gaunt, 
haggard  living  skeleton,  holding  a  candle  in  one 
hand,  and  pointing  a  cocked  revolver  at  Mike's  head 
with  the  other. 

*'  Get  up,"  said  the  apparition  hoarsely,  **  and  get 
me  something  to  eat  and  drink.  Drink  first,  and  be 
quick  about  it.  Make  no  noise.  Is  there  anybody 
else  in  the  house?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mike,  shivering.  "You  wait  here,  Sam, 
and  I'll  bring  you  something.  I  thought  you  were 
among  the  Indians,  or  in  Mexico,  or  in  the  Bad  Lands 
long  ago." 

'*  I'm  in  bad  lands  enough  here.  I'll  go  with  you. 
I'm  not  going  to  let  you  out  of  my  sight,  and  no 
tricks,  mind,  or  you  know  what  will  happen." 


v^ould 
juilty 
vould 
Fifty 
ilddo 
lillion 
id  not 
',  was 
if   the 

water, 
His 
srhaps 
le  fact 
Dr  him 
)rairie. 
:  three 
gaunt, 
one 
head 

id  get 
md  be 
ybody 

Sani, 
la  were 
Lands 

h  you. 
ind  no 


THE  SHADOW  OF  TPIE  GREENBACK.   199 

"  Surely  you  trust  me,  Sam,"  whined  Mike,  getting 
up. 

"  I  don't  trust  any  living  man.  Who  fired  that 
shot  at  me  when  I  was  leaving?" 

"  So  help  me,"  protested  Mike,  ''  I  dunno.  I 
wasn't  in  the  bar  at  the  time.  I  can  prove  I  wasn't. 
Yer  not  looking  well,  Sam." 

"  Blister  you  for  a  slow  dawdler,  you'd  not  look 
well  either,  if  you  had  no  sleep  for  a  week  and  was 
starved  into  the  bargain.     Get  a  move  on  you." 

Sam  ate  like  a  wild  beast  what  was  set  before  him, 
and  although  he  took  a  stiff  glass  of  whiskey  and 
water  at  the  beginning,  he  now  drank  sparingly.  He 
laid  the  revolver  on  the  table  at  his  elbow,  and  made 
Mike  sit  opposite  him.  When  the  ravenous  meal  was 
finished,  he  pushed  the  plate  from  him  and  looked 
across  at  Davlin. 

"When  I  said  I  didn't  trust  you,  Mike,  I  was  a  liar. 
I  do,  an'  ril  prove  it.  When  it's  your  interest  to  be- 
friend a  man,  you'll  do  it  every  time." 

**  I  will  that,"  said  Mike,  not  quite  comprehending 
what  the  other  had  said. 

"  Now  listen  to  me,  Mike,  and  be  sure  you  do  ex- 
actly as  I  tell  you.  Go  to  where  the  bank  manager 
lives  and  rouse  him  up  as  I  roused  you.  He'll  not 
be  afraid  when  he  sees  it's  you.  Tell  him  you've  got 
me  over  in  the  saloon,  and  that  I've  come  to  rob  the 
bank  of  that  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Say  that  I'm 
desperate  and  can't  be  taken  short  of  a  dozen  lives, 
and  there  is  no  lie  in  that,  as  you  know.  Tell  him 
you've  fallen  in  with  my  plans,  and  that  we'll  go  over 
there  and  hold  him  up.     Tell  him  the  only  chance  of 


'id 


;.| 


t.  -I 


r 

; 

]■: 
i 

j  ; 

■  i 

■  "-■■ 

■) 
:  I. 


i' 


200 


REVENGE! 


catching  me  is  by  a  trick.  He's  to  open  the  door  of 
the  place  where  the  money  is,  and  you're  to  shove  me 
in  and  lock  me  up.  But  when  he  opens  the  door  I'll 
send  a  bullet  through  him,  and  you  and  me  will  divide 
the  money.  Nobody  will  suspect  you,  for  nobody *11 
know  you  were  there  but  the  bank  man,  and  he'll  be 
dead.  But  if  you  make  one  move  except  as  I  tell  you 
the  first  bullet  goes  through  you.     See  ?  " 

Mike's  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider  as  the  scheme 
was  disclosed.  "  Lord,  what  a  head  you  have,  Sam  ! " 
he  said.  "  Why  didn't  you  think  of  that  before  ?  The 
bank  manager  is  in  Austin,"  ' 

"  What  the  blazes  is  he  doing  there  ?  " 

"  He  took  the  moQcy  with  him  to  put  it  in  the 
Austin  Bank.  He  left  the  day  after  you  did,  for  he 
said  the  only  chance  you  had,  was  to  get  that  money. 
You  might  have  done  this  the  night  you  left,  but  not 
since." 

"That's  straight,  is  it?"  said  Sam  suspiciously. 

"  It's  God's  truth  I'm  speaking,"  asserted  Mike 
earnestly.  "  You  can  find  that  out  for  yourself  in  the 
morning.  Nobody'U  molest  ye.  Yer  jus'  dead  beat 
for  want  o*  sleep,  I  can  see  that.  Go  upstairs  and  go 
to  bed.  I'll  keep  watch,  and  not  a  soul'll  know  you're 
here." 

Hickory  Sam's  shoulders  sank  when  he  heard  the 
money  was  gone,  and  a  look  of  despair  came  into  his 
half  closed  eyes.  He  sat  thus  for  a  few  moments  un- 
heeding the  other's  advice,  then  with  an  effort  shook 
off  his  lethargy. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  won't  go  to  bed.  I'd  like 
to    enrich   you,  Mike,  but    that    would    be   too   easy. 


11 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  201 


Cut  me  off  some  slices  of  this  cold  meat  and  put  them 
between  chunks  of  bread.  I  want  a  three  days'  sup- 
ply, and  a  bottle  of  whiskey." 

Mike  did  as  requested,  and  at  Sam's  orders  attended 
to  his  horse.  It  was  still  dark,  but  there  was  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  coming  day  in  the  eastern  sky.  Buller's 
horse  was  as  jaded  and  as  fagged  out  as  its  rider. 
As  Sam,  stooping  like  an  old  man,  rode  away,  Mike 
hurried  to  his  bedroom,  noiselessly  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  pointed  at  the  back  of  the  dim  retreating 
man  a  shot-gun,  loaded  with  slugs.  He  could  hardly 
have  missed  killing  both  horse  and  man  if  he  had  had 
the  courage  to  fire,  but  his  hand  trembled,  aiid  the 
drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  his  brow.  He  knew 
that  if  he  missed  this  time,  there  would  be  no  ques- 
tion in  Sam's  mind  about  who  fired  the  shot.  Rest- 
ing the  gun  on  the  ledge  and  keeping  [his  eye  along 
the  barrel,  he  had  not  the  nerve  to  pull  the  trigger. 
At  last  the  retreating  figure  disappeared,  and  with 
it  Mike's  chance  of  a  fortune.  He  drew  in  the  gun, 
and  softly  closed  the  window,  with  a  long  quivering 
sigh  of  regret. 

Sidney  Buller  went  west  from  Detroit  when  he 
received  the  telegram  that  announced  his  uncle's 
death  and  told  him  he  was  heir  to  the  ranch.  He 
was  thirty  years  younger  than  his  uncle  had  been  at 
the  time  of  his  tragic  death,  and  he  bore  a  remarkable 
likeness  to  the  old  man  ;  that  is,  a  likeness  more  than 
striking,  when  it  was  remembered  that  one  had  lived 
all  his  life  in  a  city,  while  the  other  had  spent  most 
of  his  days  on  the  plains.  The  young  man  had 
seen  the  Sheriff  on  his  arrival,  expecting  to  find  that 


U 


:   .: 


■    .5' 

■J 


I,  ■ 


■^r 


202 


REVENGE! 


active  steps  had  been  taken  towards  the  arrest  of  the 
murderer.  The  Sheriff  assured  him  that  nothing 
more  effective  could  be  done  than  what  had  been 
done  by  the  dead  man  himself  in  leaving  fifty  thousand 
dollars  to  the  killer  of  Hickory  Sam.  The  Sheriff 
had  made  no  move  himself,  for  he  had  been  confi- 
dently expecting  every  day  to  hear  that  Sam  was 
shot. 

Meanwhile,  nothing  had  been  heard  or  seen  of  the 
desperado  since  he  left  Salt  Lick  on  the  back  of  the 
murdered  man's  horse.  Sidney  thought  this  was 
rather  a  slipshod  way  of  administering  justice,  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  went  back  to  his  ranch.  But  if  the 
Sheriff  had  been  indifferent,  his  own  cowboys  had 
been  embarrassingly  active.  They  had  deserted  the 
ranch  in  a  body,  and  were  scouring  the  plains 
searching  for  the  murderer,  making  the  mistake  of 
going  too  far  afield.  They,  like  Mike,  had  expected 
Sam  would  strike  for  the  Bad  Lands,  and  they  rode 
far  and  fast  to  intercept  him.  Whether  they  were 
actuated  by  a  desire  to  share  the  money,  a  liking  for 
their  old  "boss,"  or  hatred  of  Hickory  Sam  himself, 
they  themselves  would  have  found  it  difficult  to  tell. 
Anyhow,  it  was  a  man-chase,  and  their  hunting  in- 
stincts were  keen. 

In  the  early  morning  Sidney  Buller  walked  forth 
from  the  buildings  of  the  ranch  and  struck  for  the 
open  prairie.  The  sun  was  up,  but  the  morning  was 
still  cool.  Before  he  had  gone  far  he  saw,  approach- 
ing the  ranch,  a  single  riderless  horse.  As  the  animal 
came  nearer  and  nearer  it  whinnied  on  seeing  him, 
and  finally  changed   its  course    and    came    directly 


1 


THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  GREENBACK.  203 

toward  him.  Then  he  saw  that  there  was  a  man  on 
its  back;  a  man  either  dead  or  asleep.  His  ha 
hung  down  nerveless  by  the  horse's  shoulder,  and 
swung  helplessly  to  and  fro  as  the  animal  walked  on  ; 
the  man's  head  rested  on  the  norse's  mane.  The 
horse  came  up  to  Sidney,  thrusting  its  nose  out  to 
him,  whinnying  gently,  as  if  it  knew  him. 

"Hello?"  cried  Sidney,  shaking  the  man  by  the 
shoulder,  '*  what's  the  matter?     Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

Instantly  the  desperado  was  wide  awake,  sitting 
bolt  upright,  and  staring  at  Sidney  with  terrified 
recognition  in  his  eyes.  He  raised  his  right  hand, 
but  the  pistol  had  evidently  dropped  from  it  when 
he,  overcome  by  fatigue,  and  drowsy  after  his  enor- 
mous meal,  had  fallen  asleep.  He  flung  himself  off, 
keeping  the  animal  between  himself  and  his  supposed 
enemy,  pulled  the  other  revolver  and  fired  at  Sidney 
across  the  plunging  horse.  Before  he  could  fire  again, 
Sidney,  who  was  an  athlete,  brought  down  the  loaded 
head  of  his  cane  on  the  pistol  wrist  of  the  rufifian, 
crying — 

"  Don't  fire,  you  fool,  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you !  " 

As  the  revolver  fell  to  the  ground  Sam  sprang 
savagely  at  the  throat  of  the  young  man,  who,  step- 
ping back,  struck  his  assailant  a  much  heavier  blow 
than  he  intended.  The  leaden  knob  of  the  stick  fell 
on  Sam's  temple,  and  he  dropped  as  if  shot.  Alarmed 
at  the  effect  of  his  blow,  Sidney  tore  open  the  uncon- 
scious man's  shirt,  and  tried  to  get  him  to  swallow 
some  whiskey  from  the  bottle  he  found  in  his  pocket. 
Appalled  to  find  all  his  efforts  unavailing,  he  sprang 
on  the  horse  and  rode  to  the  stables  for  help. 


vt 


n 


1 1 


I       i 


204 


REVENGE! 


Tlic  forciTiaii  coming  out,  cried  :  *'  Good  heavens, 
Mr.  Buller,  that's  the  old  man's  horse.  Where  did 
you  get  him  ?  Well,  Jerry,  old  fellow,"  he  continued, 
patting  the  horse,  who  whinnied  affectionately,  "they've 
been  using  you  badly,  and  you've  come  home  to  be 
taken  care  of.     Where  did  you  find  him,  Mr.  Buller?  " 

"  Out  on  the  prairie,  and  I'm  afraid  I've  killed  the 
man  who  was  riding  him.  God  knows,  I  didn't  intend 
to  ,  but  he  fired  at  me,  and  I  hit  harder  than  I 
thought." 

Sidney  and  the  foreman  ran  out  together  to  where 
Jerry's  late  rider  lay  on  the  grass. 

**  He's  done  for,"  said  the  foreman,  bending  over 
the  prostrate  figure,  but  taking  the  precaution  to  have 
a  revolver  in  his  hand.  "  He's  got  his  dose,  thank 
God.  This  is  the  man  who  murdered  your  uncle. 
Think  of  him  being  knocked  over  with  a  city  cane, 
and  think  of  the  old  man's  revenge  money  coming 
back  to  the  family  again  !  " 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 

The  Monarch  in  the  Arabian  story  had  an  ointment 
which,  put  upon  the  right  eye,  enabled  him  to  see 
through  the  walls  of  houses.  If  the  Arabian  despot 
had  passed  along  a  narrow  street  leading  into  a  main 
thoroughfare  of  London,  one  night  just  before  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  he  would  have  beheld,  in  a  dingy 
back  room  of  a  large  building,  a  very  strange  sight. 
He  would  have  seen  King  Charles  the  First  seated  in 
friendly  converse  with  none  other  than  Oliver  Crom- 
well. 

The  room  in  which  these  two  noted  people  sat  had 
no  carpet  and  but  few  chairs.  A  shelf  extended  along 
one  side  of  the  apartment,  and  it  was  covered  with 
mugs  containing  paint  and  grease.  Brushes  were 
Uttered  about,  and  a  wig  lay  in  a  corner.  A  mirror 
stood  at  either  end  of  the  shelf,  and  beside  these, 
flared  two  gas-jets  protected  by  wire  baskets.  Hang- 
ing from  nails  driven  in  the  walls  were  coats,  waist- 
coats, and  trousers  of  more  modern  cut  than  the  cos- 
tumes worn  by  the  two  men. 

King  Charles,  with  his  pointed  beard  and  his  rufHes 
of  lace,  leaned  picturesquely  back  in  his  chair,  which 
rested  against  the  wall.  He  was  smoking  a  very  black 
brier-root  pipe,  and    perhaps  his  Majesty  enjoyed  the 


ki\ 


I 
i 


:'!^ 


Ui 


I'V'  I 


206 


REVENGE! 


!     I, 


I 


weed  all  the  more  that  there  was  just  above  his  head, 
tacked  to  the  wall,  a  large  placard,  containing  the 
words,  "  No  smoking  allowed  in  this  room,  or  in  any 
other  part  of  the  theatre." 

Cromwell,  in  more  sober  garments,  had  an  even 
jauntier  attitude  than  the  King,  for  he  sat  astride  the 
chair,  with  his  chin  resting  on  the  back  of  it,  smoking 
a  cigarette  in  a  meerschaum   holder. 

"  I'm  too  old,  my  boy,"  said  the  King,  **  and  too  fond 
of  my  comfort  ;  besides,  I  have  no  longer  any  am- 
bition. When  an  actor  once  realises  that  '^e  will 
never  be  a  Charles  Kean  or  a  Macready,  then  come 
peace  and  the  enjoyment  of  life.  Now,  with  you  it  is 
different  :  you  are,  if  I  may  say  so  in  deep  affection, 
young  and  foolish.  Your  project  is  a  most  hare- 
brained scheme.  You  are  throwing  away  all  you  have 
already  won." 

*'  Good  gracious  !  "  cried  Cromwell,  impatiently, 
"  what  have  I  won  ?  " 

"  You  have  certainly  won  something,"  resumed  the 
elder,  calmly,  "  when  a  person  of  your  excitable  nature 
can  play  so  well  the  sombre,  taciturn  character  of 
Cromwell.  You  have  mounted  several  rungs,  and  the 
whole  ladder  lifts  itself  up  before  you.  You  have 
mastered  two  or  three  languages,  while  I  know  but 
one,  and  that  imperfectly.  Yon  have  studied  the 
foreign  drama,  while  I  have  not  even  read  all  the 
plays  of  Shakespeare.  I  can  do  a  hundred  parts  con- 
ventionally well.  You  will,  some  day,  do  a  great  part 
as  no  other  man  on  earth  can  act  it,  and  then  fame 
will  come  to  you.  Now  you  propose  recklessly  to 
throw  all  this  away  and  ^o  into  the  wilds  of  Africa." 


rni:  understudy. 


207 


'*  The  particular  ladder  you  offer  me,"  said  Cromwell, 
"  I  have  no  desire  to  climb  ;  I  am  sick  of  the  smell  of 
the  footlights  and  the  whole  atmosphere  of  the  theatre. 
I  am  tired  of  the  unreality  of  the  life  we  lead.  Why 
not  be  a  hero  instead  of  mimicking  one?  " 

"  But,  my  dear  boy,"  said  the  King,  filling  his  pipe 
again,  '*  look  at  the  practical  side  of  things.  It  costs 
a  fortune  to  fit  out  an  African  expedition.  Where 
are  you  to  get  the  money  ?  " 

This  question  sounded  more  natural  from  the  lips 
of  the  King  than  did  the  answer  from  the  lips  of 
Cromwell. 

"  There  has  been  too  much  force  and  too  much 
expenditure  about  African  travel.  I  do  not  intend  to 
cross  the  Continent  with  arms  and  the  munitions  of 
war.  As  you  remarked  a  while  ago,  I  know  several 
European  languages,  and  if  you  will  forgive  what 
sounds  like  boasting,  I  may  say  that  I  have  a  gift  for 
picking  up  tongues.  I  have  money  enough  to  fit  my- 
self out  with  some  necessary  scientific  instruments, 
and  to  pay  my  passage  to  the  coast.  Once  there,  I 
shall  win  my  way  across  the  Continent  through  love 
and  not  through  fear." 

"You  will  lose  your  head,"  said  King  Charles; 
"  they  don't  understand  that  sort  of  thing  out  there, 
and,  besides,  the  idea  is  not  original.  Didn't  Living- 
stone try  that  tack?" 

"  Yes,  but  people  have  forgotten  Livingstone  and 
his  methods.  It  is  now  the  explosive  bullet  and  the 
elephant  gun.  I  intend  to  learn  the  language  of  the 
different  native  tribes  I  meet,  and  if  a  chief  opposes 
me  and  will  not  allow  me  to  pass  through  his  terri- 


11 
11 


M 


I, 


^ 


'  I 


h 


208 


REVENGE 


tory,  and  if  I  find  I  cannot  win  him  over  to  my  side 
by  persuasive  talk,  then  I  shall  go  round." 

"And  what  is  to  be  the  outcome  of  it  all?"  cried 
Charles.     "  What  is  your  object?" 

"  Fame,  my  boy,  fame,"  cried  Cromwell,  enthusias- 
tically, flinging  the  chair  from  under  him  and  pacing 
the  narrow  room.  *'  If  I  can  get  from  coast  to  coast 
without  taking  the  life  of  a  single  native,  won't  that 
b*^  something  greater  than  all  the  play-acting  from 
now  till  Doomsday  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  will,"  said  the  King,  gloomily  ;  **  but 
you  must  remember  you  are  the  only  friend  I  have, 
and  I  have  reached  an  age  when  a  man  does  not  pick 
up  friends  readily."  " 

Cromwell  stopped  in  his  walk  and  grasped  the  • 
King  by  the  hand.  "  Are  you  not  the  only  friend  I 
have,"  he  said;  ''and  why  can  you  not  abandon  this 
ghastly  sham  and  come  with  me,  as  I  asked  you  to  at 
first?  How  can  you  hesitate  when  you  think  of  the 
glorious  freedom  of  the  African  forest,  and  compare  it 
with  this  cribbed  and  cabined  and  confined  business 
we  are  now  at?  " 

The  King  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  knocked  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe.  He  seemed  to  have  some  trouble 
in  keeping  it  alight,  probably  because  of  the  prohibi- 
tion on  the  wall. 

"  As  I  said  before,"  replied  the  King,  "  I  am  too 
old.  There  are  no  pubs  in  the  African  forest  where  a 
man  can  get  a  glass  of  beer  when  he  wants  it.  No, 
Ormond,  African  travel  is  not  for  me.  If  you  are 
resolved  to  go,  go  and  God  bless  you ;  I  will  stay  at 
home  and  carefully  nurse  your   fame.     I  shall    from 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


209 


time  to  time  drop  appetising  little  paragraphs  into 
the  papers  about  your  wanderings,  and  when  you  are 
ready  to  come  back  to  England,  all  England  will  be 
ready  to  listen  to  you.  You  know  how  interest  is 
worked  up  in  the  theatrical  business  by  judicious 
puffing  in  the  papers,  and  I  imagine  African  explora- 
tion requires  much  the  same  treatment.  If  it  were 
not  for  the  Press,  my  boy,  you  could  explore  Africa 
till  you  were  blind  and  nobody  would  hear  a  word 
about  it,  so  I  will  be  your  advance  agent  and  make 
ready  for  your  home-coming." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  between  these  two 
historic  characters,  the  janitor  of  the  theatre  put  his 
head  into  the  room  and  reminded  the  celebrities  that 
it  was  very  late,  whereupon  both  King  and  Com- 
moner rose,  with  some  reluctance,  and  washed  them- 
selves ;  the  King  becoming,  when  he  put  on  the 
ordinary  dress  of  an  Englishman,  Mr.  James  Spence, 
while  Cromwell,  after  a  similar  transformation,  be- 
came Mr.  Sidney  Ormond  ;  and  thus,  with  nothing  of 
Royalty  or  Dictatorship  about  them,  the  two  strolled 
up  the  narrow  street  into  the  main  thoroughfare  and 
entered  their  favourite  midnight  restaurant,  where, 
over  a  belated  meal,  they  continued  the  discussion  of 
the  African  project,  which  Spence  persisted  in  looking 
upon  as  one  of  the  maddest  expeditions  that  had  ever 
come  to  his  knowledge  ;  but  the  talk  was  futile,  as 
most  talk  is,  and  within  a  month  from  that  time 
Ormond  was  on  the  ocean,  his  face  set  towards  Africa. 

Another  man  took  Ormond's  place  at  the  theatre, 
and  Spence  continued  to  play  his  part,  as  the  papers 
said,  in  his  usual  acceptable  manner.     He  lieard  from 


III 


■it' 


I 

I 
I 

!1 


iJ   ! 


ill 


:i 


2IO 


REVENGE 


his  friend,  in  due  course,  when  he  landed.  Then  at 
intervals  came  one  or  two  letters  showing  how  he  had 
surmounted  the  numerous  difficulties  with  which  he 
had  to  contend.  After  a  long  interval  came  a  letter 
from  the  interior  of  Africa,  sent  to  the  coast  by  mes- 
senger. Although  at  the  beginning  of  this  letter 
Ormond  said  he  had  but  faint  hope  of  reaching  his 
destination,  he,  nevertheless,  gave  a  very  complete 
account  of  his  wanderings  and  dealings  with  the  na- 
tives, and  up  to  that  point  his  journey  seemed  to  be 
most  satisfactory.  He  inclosed  several  photographs, 
mostly  very  had  ones,  which  he  had  managed  to 
develop  and  ^jrint  in  the  wilderness.  One,  however, 
of  himself  was  easily  recognisable,  and  Spence  had  it 
copied  and  enlarged,  hanging  the  framed  enlargement 
in  whatever  dressing-room  fate  assigned  to  him  ;  for 
Spence  never  had  a  long  engagement  at  any  one  theatre. 
He  was  a  useful  man  who  could  take  any  part,  but 
had  no  specialty,  and  London  was  full  of  such. 

For  a  long  time  he  heard  nothing  from  his  friend, 
and  the  newspaper  men  to  whom  Spence  indefatigably 
furnished  interesting  items  about  the  lone  explorer, 
began  to  look  upon  Ormond  as  an  African  Mrs. 
Harris,  and  the  paragraphs,  to  Spence's  deep  regret, 
failed  to  appear.  The  journaltsts,  who  were  a  flippant 
lot,  used  to  accost  Spence  with  "Well,  Jimmy,  how's 
your  African  friend  ?  "  and  the  more  he  tried  to  con- 
vince them,  the  less  they  believed  in  the  peace-loving 
traveller. 

At  last  there  came  a  final  letter  from  Africa,  a 
letter  that  filled  the  tender,  middle-aged  heart  of 
Spence  with   the  deepest   grief   he  had  ever  known. 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


211 


'hen  at 
he  had 
hich  he 
a  letter 
Dy  mes- 
i  letter 
ing  his 
•mpletc 
the  na- 
i  to  be 
graphs, 
ged  to 
)wever, 
had  it 
jement 
m  ;  for 
heat  re. 
rt,  but 

friend, 
:igably 
plorer, 
Mrs. 
egret, 
ppant 
how's 
o  con- 
oving 

^ica,  a 
irt  of 
novvn. 


It  was  written  in  a  shaky  hand,  and  the  writer  began 
by  saying  that  he  knew  neither  the  date  nor  his 
locality.  He  had  been  ill  and  delirious  with  fever, 
and  was  now,  at  last,  in  his  right  mind,  but  felt  the 
grip  of  death  upon  him.  The  natives  had  told  him 
that  no  one  ever  recovered  from  the  malady  he  had 
caught  in  the  swamp,  and  his  own  feelings  led  him  to 
believe  that  his  case  was  hopeless.  The  natives  had 
been  very  kind  to  him  throughout,  and  his  followers 
had  promised  to  bring  his  boxes  to  the  coast.  The 
boxes  contained  the  collections  he  had  made,  and 
also  his  complete  journal,  which  he  had  written  up 
to  the  day  he  became  ill. 

Ormond  begged  his  friend  to  hand  over  his  belong- 
ings to  the  Geographical  Society,  and  to  arrange  for 
the  publication  of  his  journal,  if  possible.  It  might 
secure  for  him  the  fame  he  had  died  to  achieve,  or  it 
might  not ;  but,  he  added,  he  left  the  whole  conduct 
of  the  affair  unreservedly  to  his  friend,  in  whom  he 
had  that  love  and  confidence  which  a  man  gives  to 
another  man  but  once  in  his  life — when  he  is  young. 
The  tears  were  in  Jimn  y's  eyes  long  before  he  had 
finished  the  letter. 

He  turned  to  another  letter  he  had  received  by  the 
same  mail,  and  which  also  bore  the  South  African 
stamp  upon  it.  Hoping  to  find  some  news  of  his 
friend  he  broke  the  seal,  but  it  was  merely  an  inti- 
mation from  the  steamship  company  that  half-a-dozen 
boxes  remained  at  the  southern  terminus  of  the  Hne 
addressed  to  him ;  but,  they  said,  until  they  were 
assured  the  freight  upon  them  to  Southampton  would 
be  paid,  they  would  not  be  forwarded.  / 


■^n 


212 


REVENGE 


A  week  later,  the  London  papers  announced  in 
large  type,  **  Mysterious  disappearance  of  an  actor." 
The  well-known  actor,  Mr.  James  Spence,  had  left  the 
theatre  in  which  he  had  been  playing  the  part  of 
Joseph  to  a  great  actor's  Richelieu,  and  had  not  been 
heard  of  since.  The  janitor  remembered  him  leaving 
that  night,  for  he  had  not  returned  his  salutation, 
which  was  most  unusual.  His  friends  had  noticed 
that  for  a  few  days  previous  to  his  disappearance  he 
had  been  apparently  in  deep  dejection,  and  fears  were 
entertained.  One  journalist  said  jestingly  that  prob- 
ably Jimmy  had  gone  to  see  what  had  become  of  his 
African  friend  ;  but  the  joke,  such  as  it  was,  was  not 
favourably  received,  for  when  a  man  is  called  Jimmy 
until  late  in  life,  it  shows  that  people  have  an  affection 
for  him,  and  every  one  who  knew  Spence  was  sorry 
he  had  disappeared,  and  hoped  that  no  evil  had  over- 
taken him. 

It  was  a  year  after  the  disappearance  that  a  wan, 
living  skeleton  staggered  out  of  the  wilderness  in 
Africa,  and  blindly  groped  his  way  to  the  coast  as 
a  man  might  who  had  lived  long  in  darkness  and 
found  the  light  too  strong  for  his  eyes.  He  managed 
to  reach  a  port,  and  there  took  steamer  homeward 
bound  for  Southampton.  The  sea-breezes  revived 
him  somewhat,  but  it  was  evident  to  all  the  passengers 
that  he  had  passed  through  a  desperate  illness.  It 
was  just  a  toss-up  whether  he  could  live  until  he  saw 
England  again.  It  was  impossible  to  guess  at  his  age, 
so  heavy  a  hand  had  disease  laid  upon  him,  and  he 
did  not  seem  to  care  to  make  acquaintances,  but  kept 
much  to  himself,  sitting  wrapped  up  in  his  chair,  gaz- 
ing with  a  tired-out  look  at  the  green  ocean. 


'?i 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


213 


iced  in 
actor." 
left  the 
part  of 
ot  been 
leaving 
utation, 
noticed 
ance  he 
irs  were 
at  prob- 
s  of  his 
was  not 
Jimmy 
iffection 
IS  sorry 
ad  over- 

t  a  wan, 
ness  in 
oast  as 
ess  and 
lanaged 
me  ward 
revived 
isengers 
ess.     It 

he  saw 
his  age, 

and  he 
lut  kept 
Fiir,  gaz- 


A  young  girl  frequently  sat  in  a  chair  near  him, 
ostensibly  reading,  but  more  often  glancing  sym- 
pathetically at  the  wan  figure  beside  her.  Many  times 
she  seemed  about  to  speak  to  him,  but  apparently 
hesitated  to  do  so,  for  the  man  took  no  notice  of  his 
fellow-passengers.  At  length,  however,  she  mustered 
up  courage  to  address  him,  and  said :  "  There  is  a 
good  story  in  this  magazine :  perhaps  you  would  like 
to  read  it?" 

He  turned  his  eyes  from  the  sea  and  rested  them 
vacantly  upon  her  face  for  a  moment.  His  dark 
moustache  added  to  the  pallor  of  his  face,  but  did  not 
conceal  i';  faint  smile  that  came  to  his  lips  ;  he  had 
heard  her,  but  had  not  understood. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  he  asked,  gently. 

"  I  said  there  was  a  good  story  here,  entitled 
'Author!  Author!'  and  I  thought  you  might  like  to 
read  it,"  and  the  girl  blushed  very  prettily  as  she  said 
this,  for  the  man  looked  younger  than  he  had  done 
before  he  smiled. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  the  man,  slowly,  "  that  I  have  for- 
gotten how  to  read.  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have 
seen  a  book  or  a  magazine.  Won't  you  tell  me  the 
story  ?  I  would  much  rather  hear  it  from  you  than 
make  an  attempt  to  read  it  myself  in   the  magazine." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  breathlessly,  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I 
could  tell  it ;  at  any  rate,  not  as  well  as  the  author 
does ;  but  I  will  read  it  to  you  if  you  like." 

The  story  was  about  a  man  who  had  written  a  play, 
and  who  thought,  as  every  playwright  thinks,  that 
it  was  a  great  addition  to  the  drama,  and  would  bring 
him  fame  and  fortune.     He  took  this  play  to  a  London 


If:  I 


1   * 


4 


lit  i ! 


I 


I  : 


:)!■; 


214 


REVENGE! 


manager,  but  heard  nothing  of  it  for  a  long  time,  and 
at  last  it  was  returned  to  him.  Then,  on  going  to  a 
first  night  at  the  theatre  to  see  a  new  tragedy,  which 
this  manager  called  his  own,  he  was  amazed  to  see  his 
rejected  play,  with  certain  changes,  produced  upon 
the  stage,  and  when  the  cry  "Author!  Author!" 
arose,  he  stood  up  in  his  place  ;  but  illness  and  priva- 
tion had  done  their  work,  and  he  died  proclaiming 
himself  the  author  of  the  play. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  man,  when  the  reading  was  finished, 
"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  the  story  has  interested 
me.  I  once  was  an  actor  myself,  and  anything  per- 
taining to  the  stage  appeals  to  me,  although  it  is 
years  since  I  saw  a  theatre.  It  must  be  hard  luck  to 
work  for  fame  and  then  be  cheated  out  of  it,  as  was 
the  man  in  the  tale ;  but  I  suppose  it  sometimes 
happens,  although,  for  the  honesty  of  human  nature, 
I  hope  not  very  often."  "  . 

**  Did  you  act  under  your  own  name,  or  did  you 
follow  the  fashion  so  many  of  the  profession  adopt  ?  " 
asked  the  girl,  evidently  interested  when  he  spoke  of 
the  theatre. 

The  young  man  laughed  for,  perhaps,  the  first  time 
on  the  voyage.  ''  Oh,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  not  at  all 
noted.  I  acted  only  in  minor  parts,  and  always  under 
my  own  name,  which,  doubtless,  you  have  never 
heard — it  is  Sidney  Ormond." 

"What!"  cried  the  girl  in  amazement;  "not  Sid- 
ney Ormond  the  African  traveller  ?  " 

The  young  man  turned  his  wan  face  and  large, 
melancholy  eyes  upon  his  questioner. 

"  I  am  certainly  Sir^  ley  Ormond,  an  African  travel- 


■i!;' 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


215 


H 


ler,  but  I  don't  think  I  deserve  the  *  the,'  you  know. 
I  don't  imagine  anyone  has  heard  of  me  through  my 
travelling  any  more  than  through  my  acting." 

"  The  Sidney  Ormond  I  mean,"  she  said,  "  went 
through  Africa  without  firin  a  shot ;  whose  book, 
A  Mission  of  Peace,  has  been  such  a  success,  both 
in  England  and  America.  But,  of  course,  you  cannot 
be  he ;  for  I  remember  that  Sidney  Or  lond  is  now 
lecturing  in  England  to  tremendous  audi  ices  all  over 
the  country.  The  Royal  Geographical  Society  has 
given  him  medals  or  degrees,  or  something  of  that 
sort — perhaps  it  was  Oxford  that  gave  the  degree.  I  am 
sorry  I  haven't  his  book  with  me,  it  would  be  sure  to 
interest  you  ;  but  some  one  on  board  is  almost  certain 
to  have  it,  and  1  will  try  to  get  it  for  you.  I  gave 
mine  to  a  friend  in  Cape  Town.  What  a  funny  thing 
it  is  that  the  two  names  should  be  exactly  the  same." 

"  It  is  very  strange,"  said  Ormond  gloomily,  and  his 
eyes  again  sought  the  horizon  and  he  seemed  to 
relapse  into  his  usual  melancholy. 

The  girl  arose  from  her  seat,  saying  she  would  try 
to  find  the  book,  and  left  him  there  meditating.  When 
she  came  back,  after  the  lapse  of  half  an  hour  or  so, 
she  found  him  sitting  just  as  she  had  left  him,  with  his 
sad  eyes  on  the  sad  sea.  The  girl  had  a  volume  in 
her  hand.  *'  There,"  she  said,  "  I  knew  there  would  be 
a  copy  on  board,  but  I  am  more  bewildered  than  ever ; 
the  frontispiece  is  an  exact  portrait  of  you,  only  you 

are  dressed   differently  and  do  not  look "  the  girl 

hesitated,  "  so  ill  as  when  you  came  on  board." 

Ormond  looked  up  at  the  girl  with  a  smile,  and 
said — 


t 


V: 


I 


2l6 


REVENGE! 


'*  You  might  say  with  truth,  so  ill  as  I  look  now." 

"  Oh,  the  voyage  has  done  yo".  good.  You  seein 
ever  so  much  better  than  when  you  came  on  board." 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  is  so,"  said  Ormond,  reaching  for 
the  volume  she  held  in  her  hand.  He  opened  it  at 
the  frontispiece  and  gazed  long  at  the  picture. 

The  girl  sat  down  beside  him  and  watched  his  face, 
glancing  from  it  to  the  book. 

•*  It  seems  to  me,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  the  coin- 
cidence is  becoming  more  and  more  striking.  Have 
you  ever  seen  that  portrait  before?" 

**  Yes,"  said  Ormond  slowly.  "  I  recognise  it  as  a 
portrait  I  took  of  myself  in  the  interior  of  Africa 
which  I  sent  to  a  dear  friend  of  mine ;  in  fact,  the  only 
friend  I  had  in  England.  I  think  I  wrote  him  about 
getting  together  a  book  out  of  the  materials  I  sent 
him,  but  I  am  not  sure.  I  was  very  ill  at  the  time 
I  wrote  him  my  last  letter.  I  thought  I  was  going  to 
die,  and  told  him  so.  I  feel  somewhat  bewildered, 
and  don't  quite  understand  it  all." 

"  I  understand  it,"  cried  the  girl,  her  face  blazing 
with  indignation.  "  Your  friend  is  a  traitor.  He  is 
reaping  the  reward  that  should  ha\  c  been  yours,  and 
so  poses  as  the  African  traveller,  the  real  Ormond. 
You  must  put  a  stop  to  it  when  you  reach  England, 
and  expose  his  treachery  to  the  whole  country." 

Ormond  shook  his  head  slowly  and  said — 

"  I  cannot  imagine  Jimmy  Spence  a  traitor.  If  it 
were  only  the  book,  that  could  be,  I  think,  easily 
explained,  for  I  sent  him  all  my  notes  of  travel  and 
materials  ;  but  I  cannot  understand  him  taking  the 
medals  or  degrees." 


Tl 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


217 


The  girl  made  a  quick  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Such  things,"  she  said,  "cannot  be  explained. 
You  must  confront  him  and  expose  him." 

"  No,"  said  Ormond,  "  I  shall  not  confront  him.  I 
must  think  over  the  matter  for  a  time.  I  am  not 
quick  at  thinking,  at  least  just  now,  in  the  face  of  th's 
difficulty.  Everything  seemed  plain  and  simple  before, 
but  if  Jimmy  Spence  has  stepped  into  my  snoes,  he 
is  welcom.e  to  them.  Ever  since  I  came  out  of  Africa 
I  seem  to  have  lost  all  ambition.  Nothing  appears  to 
be  worth  while  now." 

"Oh!"  cried  the  girl,  "that  is  because  you  are  in 
ill-health.  You  will  be  yourself  again  when  you  reach 
England.  Don't  let  this  trouble  you  now — there  is 
plenty  of  time  to  think  it  all  out  before  we  arrive. 
I  am  sorry  I  spoke  about  it ;  but,  you  see,  I  was  taken 
by  surprise  when  you  mentioned  your  name." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  spoke  to  me,"  said  Ormond, 
in  a  more  cheerful  voice.  "  The  mere  fact  that  you 
have  talked  with  me  has  encouraged  me  wonderfully. 
I  cannot  tell  how  much  this  conversation  has  been  to 
me.  I  am  a  lone  man,  with  only  one  friend  iin  the 
world — I  am  afraid  I  must  add  now,  without  even  one 
friend  in  the  world.  I  am  grateful  for  your  interest 
in  me,  even  though  it  was  only  compassion  for  a 
wreck — for  a  derelict,  floating  about  on  the  sea  of 
life." 

There  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes,  and  she  did  not 
speak  for  a  moment,  then  she  laid  her  hand  softly 
on  Ormond's  arm,  and  said,  "  You  are  not  a  wreck, 
far  from  it.  You  sit  alone  too  much,  and  I  am  afraid 
that   what  I   have   thoughtlessly  said    has   added  to 


'  i 


>i^ 


^i| 


rfT 


.^fr- 


i 


IM 


:  f  !* 


'I 


i!|i|  I 


2l8 


REVENGE 


your  troubles."     The  girl  paused  in  her  talk,  but  after 
a  moment  added — 

**  Don't  you  think  you  could  walk  the  deck  for  a 
little?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  walking,"  said  Ormond,  with 
a  little  laugh,  **  but  I'll  come  with  you  if  you  don'; 
mind  an  encumbrance." 

He  rose  somewhat  unsteadily,  and  she  took  his  arm. 

"  You  must  look  upon  me  as  your  physician,"  she 
said  cheerfully,  "  and  I  shall  insist  that  my  orders  are 
obeyed." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  under  your  charge,"  said 
Ormond,  "  but  may  I  not  know  my  physician's 
name?" 

The  girl  blushed  deeply  when  she  realised  that  she 
had  had  such  a  long  conversation  with  one  to  whom 
she  had  never  been  introduced.  She  had  regarded 
him  as  an  invalid,  who  needed  a  few  words  of  cheerful 
encouragement,  but  as  he  stood  up  she  saw  that  he 
was  much  younger  than  his  face  and  appearance  had 
led  her  to  suppose. 

"  My  name  is  Mary  Radford,"  she  said. 

"J//^^  Mary  Radford  ?  "  inquired  Ormond. 

"  Miss  Mary  Radford." 

That  walk  on  the  deck  was  the  first  of  many,  and  it 
soon  became  evident  to  Ormond  that  he  was  rapidly 
becoming  his  old  self  again.  If  he  had  lost  a  friend 
in  England,  he  had  certainly  found  another  on  board 
ship  to  whom  he  was  getting  more  and  more  attached 
as  time  went  on.  The  only  point  of  disagreement 
between  them  was  in  regard  to  the  confronting  of 
Jimmy    Spence.     Ormond    was    determined   in    his 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


219 


resolve  not  to  interfere  with  Jimmy  and  his  ill-gotten 
fame. 

As  the  voyage  was  nearing  its  end,  Ormond  and 
Miss  Radford  stood  together  leaning  over  the  rail 
conversing  quietly.  They  had  become  very  great 
friends  indeed. 

**But  if  you  will  not  expose  this  nian,"  said  Miss 
Radford,  "what  then  is  your  purpose  when  you  land  ? 
Are  you  going  back  to  the  stage  again?" 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  replied  Ormond.  "  I  shall  try 
to  get  something  to  do  and  live  quietly  for  awhile." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  the  girl,  '*  I  have  no  patience  with 
you." 

''  I  am  sorry  for  that,  Mary,"  said  Ormond,  "  for,  if 
I  can  make  a  living,  I  intend  asking  you  to  be  my 
wife." 

"Oh  !  "  cried  the  girl  breathlessly,  turning  her  head 
away. 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  have  any  chance  ?  "  asked 
Ormond. 

"Of  making  a  living?"  inquired  the  girl,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"No.  I  am  sure  of  making  a  living,  for  I  have 
always  done  so;  therefore  answer  my  question. 
Mary,  do  you  think  I  would  have  any  chance  ? " 
and  he  placed  his  hand  softly  over  hers,  which  lay  on 
the  ship's  rail.  The  girl  did  not  answer,  but  she  did 
not  withdraw  her  hand  ;  she  gazed  down  at  the  bright 
green  wate    with  its  tinge  of  foam. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,"  she  said  at  length,  "  that 
you  have  every  chance,  and  you  are  merely  pretend- 
ing ignorance  to  make  it  easier  for  me,  because  I  have 


H 


!i 


Mi 


'Hfi 


220 


REVENGE! 


I :  ' 


!lli!i:il 


simply  flung  myself  at  your  head  ever  since  we  began 
the  voyage." 

"  I  am  not  pretending,  Mary,"  he  said.  **  What  I 
feared  was  that  your  interest  was  only  that  of  a  nurse 
in  a  somewhat  backward  patient.  I  was  afraid  I  had 
your  sympathy,  but  not  your  love.  Perhaps  such  was 
the  case  at  first." 

"  Perhaps  such  was  the  case — at  first,  but  it  is  far 
from  being  the  truth  now — Sidney." 

The  young  man  made  a  motion  to  approach  nearer 
to  her,  but  the  girl  drew  away,  whispering — 

"  There  are  other  people  besides  ourselves  on  deck, 
remember." 

**  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  Ormond,  gazing  fondly  at 
her.  *'  I  can  see  no  one  but  you.  I  believe  we  are 
floating  alone  on  the  ocean  together,  and  that  there  is 
no  one  else  in  the  wide  world  but  our  two  selves.  I 
thought  I  went  to  Africa  for  fame,  but  I  see  I  really 
went  to  find  you.  What  I  sought  seems  poor  com- 
pared to  what  I  have  found." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  girl,  looking  shyly  at  him, 
**  Fame  is  waiting  as  anxiously  for  you  to  woo  her  as 
— as  another  person  waited.  Fame  is  a  shameless 
hussy,  you  know," 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"  No.  Fame  has  jilted  me  once.  I  won't  give  her 
another  chance." 

So  those  who  were  twain  sailed  gently  into  South- 
ampton Docks,  resolved  to  be  one  when  the  gods  v/ere 
willing. 

Mary  Radford's  people  were  there  to  meet  her,  and 
Ormond  went  up  to  London  alone,  beginning  his  short 


I 


THE   UNDERSTUDY. 


221 


railway  journey  with  a  return  of  the  melancholy  that 
had  oppressed  him  during  the  first  part  of  his  long 
voyage.  He  felt  once  more  alone  in  the  world,  now 
that  the  bright  presence  of  his  sweetheart  was  with- 
drawn, and  he  was  saddened  by  the  thought  that  the 
telegram  he  had  hoped  to  send  to  Jimmy  Spence,  ex- 
ultingly  announcing  his  arrival,  would  never  be  sent. 
In  a  newspaper  he  bought  at  the  station,  he  saw  that 
the  African  traveller,  Sidney  Ormond,  was  to  be 
received  by  the  Mayor  and  Corporation  of  a  Midland 
town,  and  presented  with  the  freedom  of  the  city. 
The  traveller  was  to  lecture  on  his  exploits  in  the 
town  so  honouring  him,  that  day  week.  Ormond  put 
down  the  paper  with  a  sigh,  and  turned  his  thoughts 
to  the  girl  from  whom  he  had  so  lately  parted.  A 
true  sweetheart  is  a  pleasanter  subject  for  meditation 
than  a  false  friend. 

Mary  also  saw  the  announcement  in  the  paper, 
and  anger  tightened  her  lips  and  brought  additional 
colour  to  her  cheeks.  Seeing  how  averse  her  lover  was 
to  taking  any  action  against  his  former  friend,  she  had 
ceased  to  urge  him,  but  she  had  quietly  made  up  her 
own  mind  to  be  herself  the  goddess  of  the  machine. 

On  the  night  the  bogus  African  traveller  was  to 
lecture  in  the  Midland  town,  Mary  Radford  was  a 
unit  in  the  very  large  audience  that  greeted  him. 
When  he  came  on  the  platform  she  was  so  amazed  at 
his  personal  appearance  that  she  cried  out,  but  for- 
tunately her  exclamation  was  lost  in  the  applause  that 
greeted  the  lecturer.  The  man  was  the  exact  dupli- 
cate of  her  betrothed. 

She  listened  to  the  lecture  in  a  daze ;  it  seemed  to 


^i 


<  ti 


I 


■l;M  i' 


m 


m 


M 


'V 


222 


REVENGE! 


her  that  even  the  tones  of  the  lecturer's  voice  were 
those  of  her  lover.  She  paid  little  heed  to  the  matter 
of  his  discourse,  but  allowed  her  mind  to  dwell  more 
on  the  coming  interview,  wondering  what  excuses  the 
fraudulent  traveller  would  make  for  his  perfidy. 
When  the  lecture  was  over,  and  the  usual  vote  of 
thanks  had  been  tendered  and  accepted,  Mary  Rad- 
ford still  sat  there  while  the  rest  of  the  audience 
slowly  filtered  out  of  the  large  hall.  She  rose  at  last, 
nerving  herself  for  the  coming  meeting,  and  went  to 
the  side  door,  where  she  told  the  man  on  duty  that 
she  wished  to  see  the  lecturer.  The  man  said  that  it 
was  impossible  for  Mr.  Ormond  to  see  any  one  at  that 
moment  ;  there  was  to  be  a  big  supper  ;  he  was  to 
meet  the  Mayor  and  Corporation  ;  and  so  the  lecturer 
had  said  he  could  see  no  one. 

"  Will  you  take  a  note  to  him  if  I  write  it  ?  "  asked 
the  girl. 

"  I  will  send  it  in  to  him  ;  but  it's  no  use,  he  won*t 
see  you.  He  refused  to  see  even  the  reporters,"  said 
the  door-keeper,  as  if  that  were  final,  and  a  man  who 
would  deny  himself  to  the  reporters  would  not  admit 
Royalty  itself. 

Mary  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  words,  "  The 
affianced  wife  of  the  real  Sidney  Ormond  would  like 
to  see  you  for  a  few  moments,"  and  this  brief  note  was 
taken  in  to  the  lecturer. 

The  door-keeper's  faith  in  the  constancy  of  public 
men  was  rudely  shaken  a  few  minutes  later,  when  the 
messenger  returned  with  orders  that  the  lady  was  to 
be  admitted  at  once. 

When  Mary  entered  the  green-room  of  the  lecture 


■  n 


THE  UNDERSTUDY. 


22i 


hall  she  saw  the  double  of  her  lover  standing  near  the 
fire,  her  note  in  his  hand  and  a  look  of  incredulity  on 
his  face. 

The  girl  barely  entered  the  room,  and,  closing  the 
door,  s.tood  with  her  back  against  it.  He  was  the  first 
to  speak. 

"  I  thought  Sidney  had  told  me  everything ;  I  never 
knew  he  was  acquainted  with  a  young  lady,  much  less 
engaged  to  her." 

*'  You  admit,  then,  that  you  are  not  the  true  Sidney 
Ormond  ?  " 

'*  I  admit  it  to  you,  of  course,  if  you  were  to  have 
been  his  wife." 

"  I  am  to  be  his  wife,  I  hope." 

"  But  Sidney,  poor  fellow,  is  dead ;  dead  in  the 
wilds  of  Africa." 

"  You  will  be  shocked  to  learn  that  such  is  not  the 
case,  and  that  your  imposture  must  come  to  an  end. 
Perhaps  you  counted  on  his  friendship"  for  you,  and 
thought  that  even  if  he  did  return  he  would  not 
expose  you.  In  that  you  were  quite  right,  but  you 
did  not  count  on  me.  Sidney  Ormond  is  at  this 
moment  in  London,  Mr.  Spence." 

Jimmy  Spence,  paying  no  attention  to  the  accusa- 
tions of  the  girl,  gave  a  war-whoop  which  had  formerly 
been  so  effective  in  the  second  act  of  **  Pocahontas," 
in  which  Jimmy  had  enacted  the  noble  savage,  and 
then  he  danced  a  jig  that  had  done  service  in  Colleen 
Bazvn.  While  the  amazed  girl  watched  these  antics, 
Jimmy  suddenly  swooped  down  upon  her,  caught  her 
around  the  waist,  and  whirled  her  wildly  around  the 
room.     Setting  her  down  in  a  corner,  Jimmy  became 


,  a.  -I 
■»■ 


'!rl 


i  ' 


III  1 1  :     I'll 


224 


REVENGE! 


himself  again,  and  dabbed  his  heated  brow  with  his 
handkerchief  carefully,  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  makeup. 

"  Sidney  in  England  again?  That's  too  good  news 
to  be  true.  Say  it  again,  my  girl,  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it.     Why  didn't  he  come  with  you  ?     Is  he  ill  ?  " 

"  He  has  been  very  ill." 

"Ah,  that's  it,  poor  fellow.  I  knew  nothing  else 
would  have  kept  him.  And  then  when  he  tele- 
graphed to  me  at  the  old  address,  on  landing,  of  course, 
there  was  no  reply,  because,  you  see,  I  had  disap- 
peared. But  Sid  wouldn't  know  anything  about  that, 
and  so  he  must  be  wondering  what  has  become  of  me. 
I'll  have  a  great  story  to  tell  him  when  we  meet ;  al- 
most as  good  as  his  own  African  experiences.  We'll  go 
right  up  to  London  to-night,  as  soon  as  this  confounded 
supper  is  over.     And  what  is  your  name,  my  girl  ?  " 

"  Mary  Radford." 

"  And  you're  engaged  to  old  Sid,  eh  ?  Well !  well ! 
well !  well !  This  is  great  news.  You  mustn't  mind 
my  capers,  Mary,  my  dear;  you  see,  I'm  the  only 
friend  Sid  has,  and  I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  father. 
I  look  young  now,  but  you  wait  till  the  paint  comes 
off.  Have  you  any  money  ?  I  mean,  to  live  on  when 
you're  married ;  because  I  know  Sidney  never  had 
much." 

"  I  haven't  very  much  either,"  said  Mary,  with  a  sigh. 

Jimmy  jumped  up  and  paced  the  room  in  great  glee, 
laughing  and  slapping  his  thigh. 

"  That's  first  rate,"  he  cried.  "  Why,  Mary,  I've 
got  over  ;^2o,00O  in  the  bank  saved  up  for  you  two. 
The  book  and  lectures,  v^u  know.  I  don't  believe 
Sid  himself  could  have  done  as  well,  for  he  always 


m 


tele- 


sigh, 
glee, 


^ 


THE   UNDERSTUDY. 


225 


was  careless  with  money — he's  often  lent  me  the  last 
penny  he  had,  and  never  kept  any  account  of  it ;  and 
I  never  thought  of  paying  it  back,  either,  until  he  was 
gone,  and  then  it  worried  me." 

The  messenger  put  his  head  into  the  room,  and 
said  the  Mayor  and  the  Corporation  were  waiting. 

"  Oh,  hang  the  Mayor  and  the  Corporation  !  "  cried 
Jimmy  ;  then,  suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  added, 
hastily,  "  No,  don't  do  that.  Just  give  them  Jimmy — 
I  mean  Sidney — Ormond's  compliments,  and  tell  his 
Worship  that  I  have  just  had  some  very  important 
news  from  Africa,  but  will  be  with  him  directly." 

When  the  messenger  was  gone  Jimmy  continued  in 
high  feather.  "  What  a  time  we  shall  have  in  London. 
We'll  all  three  go  to  the  old  familiar  theatre,  yes,  and 
by  Jove,  we'll  pay  for  our  seats  ;  t/iat  will  be  a  novelty. 
Then  we  will  have  supper  where  Sid  and  I  used  to 
eat.  Sidney  shall  talk,  and  you  and  I  will  listen ; 
then  I  shall  talk,  and  you  and  Sid  will  listen.  You 
see,  my  dear,  I've  been  to  Africa  too.  When  I  got 
Sidney's  letter  saying  he  was  dying  I  just  moped 
about  and  was  of  no  use  to  anybody.  Then  I  made 
up  my  mind  what  to  do.  Sid  had  died  for  fame,  and 
it  wasn't  just  he  shouldn't  get  what  he  paid  so  dearly 
for.  I  gathered  together  what  money  I  could  and 
went  to  Africa,  steerage.  I  found  I  couldn't  do  any- 
thing there  about  searching  for  Sid,  so  I  resolved  to 
be  his  understudy  and  bring  fame  to  him,  if  it  were 
possible.  I  sank  my  own  identity  and  made  up  as 
Sidney  Ormond,  took  his  boxes  and  sailed  for  South- 
amp*  jn.  I  have  been  his  understudy  ever  since, 
for,  after  all,  I  always  had  a  hope  he  would  come  back 


n 


:'5 


0 


u 


I  i 


I 


226 


REVENGE! 


I 


liii 


some  day,  and  then  everything  would  be  ready  for 
him  to  take  the  principal  role,  and  let  the  old  under- 
study go  back  to  the  boards  again  and  resume  com- 
peting with  the  reputation  of  Macready.  If  Sid 
hadn't  come  back  in  another  year,  I  was  going  to  take 
a  lecturing  trip  in  America,  and  when  that  was  done, 
I  intended  to  set  out  in  great  state  for  Africa,  disap- 
pear into  the  forest  as  Sidney  Ormond,  wash  the  paint 
off  and  come  out  as  Jimmy  Spence.  Then  Sidney 
Ormond's  fame  would  have  been  secure,  for  they 
would  be  always  sending  out  relief  expeditions  after 
him  and  not  finding  him,  while  I  would  be  growing 
old  on  the  boards  and  bragging  what  a  great  man  my 
friend,  Sidney  Ormond,  was." 

There  were  tears  in  the  girl's  eyes  as  she  rose  and 
took  Jimmy's  hand. 

*'  No  man  has  ever  been  so  true  a  friend  to  his  friend 
as  you  have  been,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  yes,"  cried  Jimmy,  jauntily.  "  Sid 
would  have  done  the  same  for  me.  But  he  is  luckier 
in  having  you  than  in  having  his  friend,  although  I 
don't  deny  I've  been  a  good  friend  to  him.  Yes,  my 
dear,  he  is  lucky  in  having  a  plucky  girl  like  you.  I 
missed  that  somehow  when  I  was  young,  having  my 
head  full  of  Macready  nonsense,  and  I  missed  being  a 
Macready  too.  I've  always  been  a  sort  of  understudy, 
so  you  see  the  part  comes  easy  to  me.  Now  I  must 
be  off  to  that  confounded  Mayor  and  Corporation, 
I  had  almost  forgotten  them,  but  I  must  keep  up  the 
character  for  Sidney's  sake.  But  this  is  the  last  act, 
my  dear.  To-morrow  I'll  turn  over  the  part  of  ex- 
plorer to  the  real  actor  ...  to  the  star." 


''OUT  OF  THUN." 


-BESSIE  S   BEHAVIOUR. 


'  * 


On  one  point  Miss  Bessie  Durand  agreed  with 
Alexander  von  Humboldt — in  fact,  she  even  went 
further  than  that  celebrated  man,  for  while  he  as- 
serted that  Thun  was  one  of  the  three  most  beautiful 
spots  on  earth,  Bessie  held  that  this  Swiss  town  was  ab- 
solutely the  most  perfectly  lovely  place  she  had  ever 
visited.  Her  reason  for  this  conclusion  differed  from 
that  of  Humboldt.  The  latter,  being  a  mere  man, 
had  been  influenced  by  the  situation  of  the  town,  the 
rapid,  foaming  river,  the  placid  green  lake,  the  high 
mountains  all  around,  the  snow-peaks  to  the  east,  the 
ancient  castle  overlooking  everything,  and  the  quaint 
streets  with  the  pavements  up  at  the  first  floors. 

Bessie  had  an  eye  for  these  things,  of  course,  but 
while  waterfalls  and  profound  ravines  were  all  very 
well  in  their  way,  her  hotel  had  to  be  filled  with  the 
right  sort  of  company  before  any  spot  on  earth  was 
entirely  satisfactory  to  Bessie.  She  did  not  care  to 
be  out  of  humanity's  reach,  nor  to  take  her  small 
journeys  alone  ;  she  liked  to  hear  the  sweet  music  of 
speech,  and  if  she  started  at  the  sound  of  her  own, 
Bessie  would  have  been  on  the  jump  all  day,  for  she 
was  a  brilliant  and  effusive  talker. 


■■rr 


i  I 


.  Illp 
tmvM 


228 


REVENGE! 


So  it  happened  that,  in  touring  through  Switzer- 
land, Bessie  and  her  mother  (somehow  people  always 
placed  Bessie's  name  before  that  of  her  mother,  who 
was  a  quiet  little  unobtrusive  woman)  stopped  at  Thun, 
intending  to  stay  for  a  day,  as  most  people  do,  but 
when  Bessie  found  the  big  hotel  simply  swarming 
with  nice  young  men,  she  told  her  mother  that  the 
local  guide-book  asserted  that  Humboldt  had  once 
said  Thun  was  one  of  the  three  most  lovely  places  on 
earth,  and,  therefore,  they  ought  to  stay  there  and 
enjoy  its  beauties,  which  they  at  once  proceeded  to 
do.  It  must  not  be  imagined  from  this  that  Bessie 
was  particularly  fond  of  young  men.  Such  was  far 
from  being  the  case.  She  merely  liked  to  have  them 
propose  to  her,  which  was  certainly  a  laudable  ambi- 
tion, but  she  invariably  refused  them,  which  went  to 
show  that  she  was  not,  as  her  enemies  stated,  always 
in  love  with  somebody.  The  fact  was  that  Miss 
Bessie  Durand's  motives  were  entirely  misunderstood 
by  an  unappreciative  world.  Was  she  to  be  blamed 
because  young  men  wanted  her  to  marry  them  ?  Cer- 
tainly not.  It  was  not  her  fault  that  she  was  pretty 
and  sweet,  and  that  young  men,  as  a  rule,  liked  to 
talk  with  her  rather  than  with  any  one  else  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Many  of  her  detractors  would  very 
likely  have  given  much  to  have  had  Bessie's  various 
charms  of  face,  figure,  and  manner.  This  is  a  jealous 
world,  and  people  delight  in  saying  spiteful  little  things 
about  those  more  favoured  by  Providence  than  them- 
selves. It  must,  however,  be  admitted  that  Bessie 
had  a  certain  cooing,  confident*  ^  way  with  people 
that  may  have  misled  some  of  the  young  men  who 


w 


OUT  OF  THUN." 


229 


ilR' 


ultimately  proposed  to  her  into  imagining  that  they 
were  special  favourites  with  the  young  lady.  She 
took  a  kindly  interest  in  their  affairs,  and  very  shortly 
after  making  her  acquaintance,  most  young  men  found 
themselves  pouring  into  her  sympathetic  ear  all  their 
hopes  and  aspirations.  Bessie's  ear  was  very  shell- 
like and  beautiful  as  well  as  sympathetic,  so  that 
one  can  hardly  say  the  young  men  were  to  blame  any 
more  than  Bessie  was.  Nearly  everybod}  in  this 
world  wants  to  talk  of  himself  or  herself,  as  the  case 
may  be,  and  so  it  is  no  wonder  that  a  person  like 
Bessie,  who  is  willing  to  listen  while  other  people  talk 
of  themselves,  is  popular.  Among  the  many  billions 
who  inhabit  this  planet,  there  are  too  many  talkers 
and  too  few  listeners ;  and  although  Bessie  was  un- 
doubtedly a  brilliant  talker  on  occasion,  there  is  no 
doubt  that  her  many  victories  resulted  more  from  her 
appreciative  qualities  as  a  talented  listener  than  from 
the  entertaining  charms  of  her  conversation.  Those 
women  v/ho  have  had  so  much  to  say  about  Bessie's 
behaviour  might  well  take  a  leaf  from  her  book  in  this 
respect.  They  would  find,  if  they  had  even  passably 
good  looks,  that  proposals  would  be  more  frequent. 
Of  course  there  is  no  use  in  denying  that  Bessie's 
eyes  had  much  to  do  with  bringing  young  men  to  the 
point.  Her  eyes  were  large  and  dark,  and  they  had 
an  entrancing  habit  of  softening  just  at  the  right  mo- 
ment, when  there  came  into  them  a  sweet,  trustful, 
j^earning  look  that  was  simply  impossible  to  resist. 
They  gazed  thus  at  a  young  man  when  he  was  telling 
in  low  whispers  how  he  hoped  to  make  the  world 
wiser  and  better  by  his  presence  in  it,  or  when   he 


230 


REVENGE! 


narrated  some  incident  of  great  danger  in  which  he 
took  part,  where  (unconsciously,  perhaps,  on  the 
teller's  part)  his  own  heroism  was  shown  forth  to  the 
best  possible  advantage.  Then  Bessie's  eyes  would 
grow  large  and  humid  and  tender,  and  a  subdued 
light  would  come  into  them  as  she  hung  breathlessly 
on  his  words.  Did  not  Desdemona  capture  Othello 
merely  by  listening  to  a  recital  of  his  own  daring 
deeds,  which  were,  doubtless,  very  greatly  exagger- 
ated ? 

The  young  men  at  the  big  hotel  in  Thun  were 
clad  mostly  in  knickerbockers,  and  many  of  them  had 
alpenstocks  of  their  own.  It  soon  became  their  de- 
light to  sit  on  the  terrace  in  front  of  the  hotel  during 
the  pleasant  summer  evenings  and  relate  to  Bessie 
their  hairbreath  escapes,  the  continuous  murmur  of  the 
River  Aare  forming  a  soothing  chorus  to  theirdramatic 
narrations.  At  least  a  dozen  young  men  hovered 
round  the  girl,  willing  and  eager  to  confide  in  her ; 
but  while  Bessie  ^was  smiling  and  kind  to  them  all,  it 
was  soon  evident  that  some  special  one  was  her 
favourite,  and  then  the  rest  hung  hopelessly  back. 
Things  would  go  wonderfully  well  for  this  lucky  young 
fellow  for  a  day  or  two,  and  he  usually  became  so  of- 
fensively conceited  in  his  bearing  towards  the  rest, 
that  the  wonder  is  he  escaped  without  personal  ven- 
geance being  wreaked  upon  him  ;  then  all  at  once  he 
would  pack  up  his  belongings  and  gloomily  depart  for 
Berne  or  Interlaken,  depending  on  whether  his  ulti- 
mate destination  was  west  or  east.  The  young  men 
remaining  invariably  tried  not  to  look  jubilant  at  the 
sudden  departure,  while  the  ladies  staying  at  the  hotel 


"OUT  OF   THUN." 


231 


began  to  say  hard  things  of  Bessie,  going  even  so  far 
as  to  assert  that  she  was  a  heartless  flirt.  How  little 
do  we  know  the  motives  of  our  fellow-creatures !  How 
prone  we  are  to  misjudge  the  actions  of  others ! 
Bessie  was  no  flirt,  but  a  high-minded,  conscientious 
girl,  with  an  ambition — an  ambition  which  she  did  not 
babble  about  to  the  world,  and  therefore  the  world 
failed  to  appreciate  her,  as  it  nearly  always  fails  to 
appreciate  those  who  do  not  take  it  into  their  confi- 
dence. 

It  came  to  be  currently  reported  in  the  hotel  that 
Bessie  had  refused  no  less  than  seven  of  the  young 
men  who  had  been  staying  there,  and  a,«  these  young 
men  had,  one  after  another,  packed  up  and  departed, 
either  by  the  last  train  at  night  or  the  earliest  in  the 
morning,  the  proprietor  began  to  wonder  what  the 
matter  was,  especially  as  each  of  the  departing  guests 
had  but  a  short  time  before  expressed  renewed  delight 
with  the  hotel  and  its  surroundings.  Several  of  them 
had  stated  to  the  proprietor  that  they  had  abandoned 
their  intention  of  proceeding  further  with  their  Swiss 
tour,  so  satisfied  were  they  with  Thun  and  all  its  be- 
longings. Thus  did  the  flattering  opinion  of  Alexan- 
der von  Humboldt  seem  about  to  become  general,  to 
the  great  delight  of  the  hotel  proprietor,  when,  with- 
out warning,  these  young  men  had  gloomily  deserted 
Thun,  while  its  beauty  undoubtedly  remained  un- 
changed. Naturally  the  good  man  who  owned  the  hotel 
was  bewildered,  and  began  to  think  that,  after  all,  the 
English  were  an  uncertain,  mind-changing  race. 

Among  the  guests  there  was  one  young  fellew  who 
was    quite   as    much    perplexed    as    the    proprietor. 


N 


mil 


ilillll:,, 


'llli 


U 


i'l 


i:!'|i|: 


232 


REVENGE! 


Archie  Severance  was  one  of  the  last  to  fall  under  the 
spell  of  Bessie — if,  indeed,  it  is  correct  to  speak  of 
Archie  falling  at  all.  He  was  a  very  deliberate  young 
man,  not  given  to  doing  anything  precipitately,  but 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  charming  personality  of 
Bessie  fascinated  him,  although  he  seemed  to  content 
himself  with  admiring  her  from  a  distance.  Bessie 
soiT /'"'ow  did  not  appear  to  care  about  being  admired 
from  a  distance,  and  once,  when  Archie  was  prom- 
enading to  and  fro  on  the  terrace  above  the  river,  she 
smiled  sweetly  at  him  from  her  book,  and  he  sat  down 
beside  her.  Jimmy  Wellman  had  gone  that  morning, 
and  the  rest  had  not  yet  found  it  out.  Jimmy  had  so 
completely  monopolised  Miss  Durand  for  the  last  few 
days  that  no  one  else  had  had  a  chance,  but  now  that 
he  had  departed,  Bessie  sat  alone  on  the  terrace,  which 
was  a  most  unusual  state  of  things. 

"They  tell  me,"  said  Bessie,  in  her  most  flattering 
manner,  *'  that  you  are  a  famous  climber,  and  that 
you  have  been  to  the  top  of  the  Matterhorn." 

"  Oh,  not  famous  ;  far  from  it,"  said  Archie  modestly. 
"  I  have  been  up  the  Matterhorn  three  or  four  times ; 
but  then  women  and  children  make  the  ascent  nowa- 
days, so  that  is  nothing  unusual." 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  have  had  some  thrilling 
escapes,"  continued  Bessie,  looking  with  admiration 
at  Archie's  stalwart  frame.  "  Mr.  Wellman  had  an 
awful  experience " 

"Yesterday?"  interrupted  Archie.  "  I  hear  he  left 
early  this  morning." 

"  No,  not  yesterday,"  said  Miss  Durand  coldly, 
drawing  herself  up  with  some  indignation  ;  but  as  she 


"OUT  OF  THUN." 


233 


glanced  sideways  at  Mr.  Severance,  that  young  man 
seemed  so  innocent  that  she  thought  perhaps  he 
meant  nothing  in  particular  by  his  remark.  So,  after 
a  slight  pause,  Bessie  went  on  again.  "  It  was  a  week 
ago.  He  was  climbing  the  Stockhorn  and  all  at  once 
the  clouds  surrounded  him." 

"  And  what  did  Jimmy  do?  Waited  till  the  clouds 
rolled  by,  I  suppose." 

•*  Now,  Mr.  Severance,  if  you  are  going  to  laugh  at 
me,  I  shall  not  talk  to  you  any  more." 

"  I  assure  you.  Miss  Durand,  I  was  not  laughing  at 
you.  I  was  laughing  at  Jimmy.  I  never  regarded 
the  Stockhorn  as  a  formidable  peak.  It  is  something 
like  7,195  feet  high,  I  believe,  not  to  mention  the 
mches. 

"  But  surely,  Mr.  Severance,  you  know  very  well 
that  the  danger  of  a  mountain  does  not  necessarily 
bear  any  proportion  to  its  altitude  abovQ  the  sea." 

"That  is  very  true.  I  am  sure  that  Jimmy  him- 
self, with  his  head  in  the  clouds,  has  braved  greater 
dangers  at  much  lower  levels  than  the  top  of  the 
Stockhorn." 

Again  Miss  Durand  looked  searchingly  at  the  young 
man  beside  her,  but  again  Archie  was  gazing  dreamily 
at  the  curious  bell-shaped  summit  of  the  mountain 
under  discussj.on.  The  Stockhorn  stands  out  nobly, 
head  and  shoulders  above  its  fellows,  when  viewed 
from  the  hotel  terrace  at  Thun. 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  moments  betweeii  the 
two,  and  Bessie  said  to  herself  that  she  did  not  at  all 
like  this  exceedingly  self-possessed  young  man,  who 
seemed  to  look  at  the  mountains  in  preference  to  gaz- 


■t'i 
i 

i'l' 

'i'  ■ 

t; ' 


gt    .i> 


!vl| 


234 


REVENGK! 


ing  at  her — whicli  was  ajjainst  the  natural  order  of 
things.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Severance  needed  to 
be  taught  a  lesson,  and  Bessie,  who  had  a  good  deal 
of  justifiable  confidence  in  her  own  powers  as  a 
teacher,  resolved  to  give  him  the  necessary  instructio  . 
Perhaps,  when  he  had  acquired  a  little  more  experi- 
ence, he  would  not  speak  so  contemptuously  of 
*'  Jimmy,"  or  any  of  the  rest.  Besides,  it  is  always  a 
generous  action  towards  the  rest  of  humanity  to  re- 
duce the  inordinate  self-esteem  of  any  one  young  man 
to  something  like  reasonable  proportions.  So  Bessie, 
instead  of  showing  that  she  was  offended  by  his  flippant 
conversation  and  his  lack  of  devotion  to  her,  put  on 
her  most  bewitching  manner,  and  smiled  the  smile 
that  so  many  before  her  latest  victim  had  found  im- 
possible to  resist.  She  would  make  him  talk  of  him- 
self and  his  exploits.  They  all  succumbed  to  this 
treatment. 

**  I  do  so  love  to  hear  of  narrow  escapes,"  said 
Bessie  confidingly.  "  I  think  it  is  so  inspiring  to  hear 
of  human  courage  and  endurance  being  pitted  against 
the  dangers  of  the  Alps,  and  coming  out  victorious." 

"Yes,  they  usually  come  out  victorious,  according 
to  the  accounts  that  reach  us  ;  but  then,  you  know, 
we  never  get  the  mountain's  side  of  the  story." 

**  But  surely,  Mr.  Severance,"  appealed  Bessie,  "you 
do  not  imagine  that  a  real  climber  would  exaggerate 
when  telling  of  what  he  had  done." 

"  No  ;  oh  no.  I  would  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that 
he  would  exaggerate  exactly,  but  I  have  known  cases 
where — well — a  sort  of  Alpine  glow  came  over  a  story 
that,  I  must  confess,  improved  it  very  much.     Then, 


^ou  know, 


*'OUT  OF  THUN." 


235 


again,  curious  mental  transformations  take  place  which 
have  the  effect  of  making  a  man,  what  the  vulgar 
term,  a  liar.  Some  years  ago  a  friend  of  mine  came 
over  here  to  do  a  few  ascents,  but  he  found  sitting  on 
the  hotel  piazza  so  much  more  to  Lis  taste  that  he  sat 
there.  I  think  myself  the  verandah  climber  is  the 
most  sensible  man  of  the  lot  of  us ;  and,  if  he  has 
a  good  imagination,  there  is  no  reason  why  he  should 
be  distanced  by  those  you  call  real  climbers,  when  it 
comes  to  telling  stories  of  adventures.  Well,  this 
man,  who  is  a  most  truthful  person,  took  one  false 
step.  You  know,  some  amateurs  have  a  vile  habit  of 
getting  the  names  of  various  peaks  branded  on  their 
alpenstocks — ^just  as  if  any  real  climber  ever  used  an 
alpenstock." 

"Why,  what  do  they  use?  "asked  Bessie,  much 
interested. 

**  Ice-axes,  of  course.  Now,  there  is  a  useful  indi- 
vidual in  Interlaken,  who  is  what  you  might  call  a 
wholesale  brander.  He  has  the  names  of  all  the  peaks 
done  in  iron  at  his  shop,  and  if  you  take  your  alpen- 
stock to  him,  he  will,  for  a  few  francs,  brand  on  i^  all 
the  names  it  will  hold,  from  the  Ortler  to  Mont  Blanc. 
My  friend  was  weak  enough  to  have  all  the  ascents  he 
had  intended  to  make,  branded  on  the  alpenstock  he 
bought  the  moment  he  entered  Switzerland.  They 
always  buy  an  alpenstock  the  first  thing.  He  never 
had  the  time  to  return  to  the  mountains,  but  gradually 
he  came  to  believe  that  he  had  made  all  the  ascents 
recorded  by  fire  and  iron  on  his  pole.  He  is  a  truth- 
ful man  on  every  other  topic  than  Switzerland." 

"  But  you    must  have  had    some    very   dangerous 


m 
m 


.U,    /      :      . 


W '  1 


236 


REVENGE! 


experiences  among  the  Alps,  Mr.  Severance.  Please 
tell  me  of  the  time  you  were  in  the  greatest  peril." 

"  I  am  sure  it  would  not  interest  you." 

"  Oh,  it  would,  it  would.  Please  go  on,  and  don't 
require  so  much  persuasion.  I  am  just  longing  to 
hear  the  story." 

"  It  isn't  much  of  a  story,  because,  you  see,  there  is 
no  Alpine  glow  about  it." 

Archie  glanced  at  the  girl,  and  it  flashed  across  his 
mind  that  he  was  probably  then  in  the  greatest  dan- 
ger he  had  ever  been  in,  in  his  life.  She  bent  for- 
ward toward  him,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  and  her 
chin — such  a  pretty  chin  ! — in  her  hands.  Her  eyes 
were  full  upon  him,  and  Archie  had  sense  enough  to 
realise  that  there  was  danger  in  their  clear  pellucid 
depths,  so  he  turned  his  own  from  them,  and  sought 
refuge  in  his  old  friend,  the  Stockhorn. 

•'  I  think  the  narrowest  escape  I  ever  had  was  about 
two  weeks  ago.     I  went  up " 

"With  how  many  guides?"  interrupted  Bessie 
breathlessly. 

*'  With  none  at  all,"  answered  Archie,  with  a  laugh. 

*'  Isn't  that  very  unsafe  ?  I  thought  one  always 
should  have  a  guide." 

*'  Sometimes  guides  are  unnecessary.  I  took  none 
on  this  occasion,  because  I  only  ascended  as  far  as 
the  Chateau  in  Thun,  some  three  hundred  feet  above 
where  we  are  sitting,  and  as  I  went  by  the  main  street  of 
the  town,  the  climb  was  perfectly  safe  in  all  weathers. 
Besides,  there  is  generally  a  policeman  about." 

"  Oh ! "  said  the  girl,  sitting  up  suddenly  very 
straight. 


^'OUT  OF  Til  UN." 


-'3; 


Archie  was  looking  at  the  mountains,  and  did  not 
see  the  hot  anger  surge  up  into  hei  face. 

"You  know  the  steps  leading  down  from  the  castle. 
They  are  covered  in,  and  are  very  dark  when  one 
comes  out  of  the  bright  sunlight.  Some  fool  had 
been  eating  an  orange  there,  and  had  carelessly 
thrown  the  peel  on  the  steps.  I  did  not  notice  it, 
and  so  trod  on  a  bit.  The  next  thing  I  knew  I  was 
in  a  heap  at  the  foot  of  that  long  stairway,  thinking 
every  bone  in  my  body  was  broken.  I  had  many 
bruises,  but  no  hurt  that  was  serious ;  nevertheless,  I 
never  had  such  a  fright  in  my  life,  and  I  hope  never 
to  have  such  another." 

Bessie  rose  up  with  much  dignity.  "  I  am  obliged 
to  you  for  your  recital,  Mr.  Severance,"  she  said 
freezingly.  "  If  I  do  not  seem  to  appreciate  your 
story  as  much  as  I  should,  it  is  perhaps  because  I  am 
not  accustomed  to  being  laughed  at." 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Durand,  that  I  am  not  laughing 
at  you,  and  that  this  pathetic  incident  was  anything 
but  a  laughing  matter  to  me.  The  Stockhorn  has  no 
such  danger  lying  in  wait  for  a  man  as  a  bit  of  orange- 
peel  on  a  dark  and  steep  stairway.  Please  do  not  be 
offended  with  me.  I  told  you  my  stories  have  no 
Alpine  glow  about  them,  but  the  danger  was  un- 
doubtedly there." 

Archie  had  risen  to  his  feet,  but  there  wa's  no  for- 
giveness in  Miss  Durand's  eyes  as  she  bade  him 
"  Good-morning,"  and  went  into  the  hotel,  leaving 
him  standing  there. 

During  the  week  that  followed,  Archie  had  little 
chance  of  making  his  peace  with  Miss  Durand,  for  in 


:  '  1^ 

'     1 

i'  fi 

'■    i 
■ ;   •  y 

?    -Kf' 


!■ 


II 


!i    1 1 


I    ' 


If 


ii  ! 


238 


REVENGE! 


that  week  the  Sanderson  episode  had  its  beginning, 
its  rise,  and  its  culmination.  Charley  Sanderson,  em- 
boldened by  the  sudden  departure  of  Wellman,  be- 
came the  constant  attendant  of  Bessie,  and  everything 
appeared  to  be  in  his  favour  until  the  evening  he  left. 
That  evening  the  two  strolled  along  the  walk  that 
borders  the  north  side  of  the  river,  leading  to  the 
lake.  They  said  they  were  going  to  see  the  Alpine 
glow  on  the  snow  mountains,  but  nobody  believed 
that,  for  the  glow  can  be  seen  quite  as  well  from  the 
f^rrace  in  front  of  the  hotel.  Be  that  as  it  may,  they 
came  back  together,  shortly  before  eight  o'clock, 
Bessie  looking  her  prettiest,  and  Sanderson  with  a 
black  frown  on  his  face,  evidently  in  the  worst  of 
tempers.  He  flung  his  belongings  into  a  bag,  and  de- 
parted by  the  8:40  train  for  Berne.  As  Archie  met 
the  pair,  Bessie  actually  smiled  very  sweetly  upon 
him,  while  Sanderson  glared  as  if  he  had  never  met 
Severance  before. 

**  That  episode  is  evidently  ended,"  said  Archie  to 
himself,  as  he  continued  his  walk  toward  lake  Thun. 
"  I  wonder  if  it  is  pure  devilment  that  induces  her  to 
lead  people  on  to  a  proposal,  and  then  droo  them.  I 
suppose  Charley  will  leave  now,  and  we'l;  have  no 
more  games  of  billiards  together.  I  wonder  why 
they  all  seem  to  think  it  the  proper  thing  to  go  away. 
I  wouldn't.  A  woman  is  like  a  difficult  peak — if  you 
don't  succeed  the  first  time,  you  should  try  again.  I 
believe  I  shall  try  half  a  dozen  proposals  with  Bessie 
myself.  If  I  ever  come  to  the  point,  she  won't  find 
it  so  easy  to  *^et  rid  of  me  as  she  does  of  all  the 
rest." 


OUT  OF  THUN." 


239 


Meditating  thus,  he  sat  down  on  a  bench  under  the 
trees  facing  the  lake.  Archie  wondered  if  the  momen- 
tous question  had  been  asked  at  this  spot.  It  seemed 
just  the  place  for  it,  and  he  noticed  that  the  gravel  on 
the  path  was  much  disturbed,  as  if  by  the  iron-shod 
point  of  an  agitated  man's  cane.  Then  he  remem- 
bered that  Sanderson  was  carrying  an  iron-pointed 
cane.  As  Archie  smiled  and  looked  about  him,  he 
saw  on  the  seat  beside  him  a  neat  little  morocco- 
bound  book  with  a  silver  clasp.  It  had  evidently 
slipped  from  the  insecure  dress-pocket  of  a  lady  who 
had  been  sitting  there.  Archie  picked  it  up  and 
turned  it  over  and  over  in  his  hands.  It  is  a  painful 
thing  to  be  compelled  to  make  excuse  for  one  of 
whom  we  would  fain  speak  well,  but  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  at  this  point  in  his  life  Severance  did  what 
he  should  not  have  done — he  actually  read  the  con- 
tents of  the  book,  although  he  must  have  been  aware, 
before  he  turned  the  second  leaf,  that  what  was  there 
set  down  was  meant  for  no  eye  save  the  writer's  own. 
Archie  excuses  himself  by  maintaining  that  he  had  to 
read  the  book  before  he  could  be  sure  it  belonged  to 
anybody  in  particular,  and  that  he  opened  it  at  first 
me.jly  to  see  if  there  were  a  name  or  a  card  inside; 
but  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  young  man  knew 
from  the  very  first  whose  book  it  was,  and  he  might 
at  least  have  asked  Miss  Durand  if  it  were  hers  before 
he  opened  it.  However,  there  is  little  purpose  in 
speculating  on  what  might  have  been,  and  as  the 
reading  of  the  note-book  led  directly  to  the  utterly 
unjustifiable  action  of  Severance  afterwards,  as  one 
wrong  step  invariably  leads  to  another,  the  contents 


M 


yiM:l 


':!''! 


I  m 


ftf ' 


240 


REVENGE  I 


1     f 


of  the  little  volume  are  here  given,  so  that  the  reader 
of  this  tragedy  may  the  more  fully  understand  the 
situation. 

II. — BESSIE'S   CONFESSION. 

"Aug.  1st. — The  keeping  of  a  dia.y  is  a  silly 
fashion,  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  bother  with  one, 
if  my  memory  were  good,  and  if  I  had  not  a  great 
object  in  view.  However,  I  do  not  intend  this  book 
to  be  more  than  a  collection  of  notes  that  will  be  use- 
ful to  me  when  I  begin  my  novel.  The  novel  is  to 
be  the  work  of  my  life,  and  I  mean  to  use  every  talent 
I  may  have  to  make  it  unique  and  true  to  life.  I 
think  the  New  Woman  novel  is  a  thing  of  the  past, 
and  that  the  time  has  now  come  for  a  story  of  the  old 
sort,  yet  written  with  a  fidelity  to  life  such  as  has 
never  been  attempted  by  the  old  novelists.  A  painter 
or  a  sculptor  uses  a  model  while  producing  a  great 
picture  or  a  statue.  Why  should  not  a  writer  use  a 
model  also  ?  The  motive  of  all  great  novels  must  be 
love,  and  the  culminating  point  of  a  love-story  is  the 
proposal.  In  no  novel  that  I  have  ever  read  is  the 
proposal  well  done.  Men  evidently  do  not  talk  to 
each  other  about  the  proposals  they  make,  therefore  a 
man-writer  has  merely  his  own  experience  to  go  upon, 
so  his  proposals  have  a  sameness — his  hero  proposes 
just  as  he  himself  has  done  or  would  do.  Women- 
writers  seem  to  have  more  imagination  in  this  matter, 
but  they  describe  a  proposal  as  they  would  like  it  to 
be,  and  not  as  it  actually  is.  I  find  that  it  is  quite  an 
easy  thing  to  get  a  man  to  propose.  I  suppose  I  have 
a  gift  that  way,  and,  besides,  there  is  no  denying  the 


!l 


i 

SiS' 


Ik"' 


♦•OUT  OF  TIIUN." 


241 


fact  that  I  am  handsome,  and  perhaps  that  is  some- 
thing of  an  aid.  I  therefore  intend  to  write  down  in 
this  book  all  my  proposals,  using  the  exact  language 
the  man  employed,  and  thus  I  shall  have  the  proposals 
in  my  novel  precisely  as  they  occurred.  I  shall  also 
set  down  here  any  thoughts  that  may  be  of  use  to  me 
when  I  write  my  book. 

''Aug.  2nd. — I  shall  hereafter  not  date  the  notes 
in  this  book  ;  that  will  make  it  look  less  like  a  diary, 
which  I  detest.  We  are  in  Thun,  which  is  a  lovely 
place.  Humboldt,  whoever  he  is  or  was,  said  it  is 
one  of  the  three  prettiest  spots  on  earth.  I  wondc 
what  the  names  are  of  the  other  two.  We  intended  to 
stay  but  one  night  at  this  hotel,  but  I  see  it  is  full 
of  young  men,  and  as  all  the  women  seem  to  be 
rather  ugly  and  given  to  gossip,  I  think  this  is  just 
the  place  for  the  carrying  out  of  my  plans.  The 
average  young  man  is  always  ready  to  fall  in  love 
while  on  his  vacation — it  makes  time  pass  so 
pleasantly;  and  as  I  read  somewhere  that  man,  as 
a  general  rule,  proposes  fourteen  times  during  his 
life,  I  may  as  well,  in  the  in*-erests  of  literature,  be 
the  recipient  of  some  of  these  offers.  I  have  hit  on 
what  I  think  is  a  marvellous  idea.  I  shall  arrange 
the  offers  with  some  regard  to  the  scenery,  just  as 
I  suppose  a  stage-manager  does.  One  shall  propose 
by  the  river — there  are  lovely  shady  walks  on  both 
sides  ;  another,  up  in  the  mountains ;  another,  in  the 
moonlight  on  the  lake,  in  one  of  the  pretty  foreign- 
looking  rowing  boats  they  have  here,  with  striped 
awnings.  I  don't  believe  any  novelist  has  ever 
thought   of   such    a   thing.     Then  I  can    write  down 


« * 


242 


REVENGE! 


w  ■  .:i 


:!:       .   ''I 


m 


i    t 


a  vivid  description  of  the  scenery  in  conjunction 
with  the  language  the  young  man  uses.  If  my  book 
is  not  a  success,  it  will  be  because  there  are  no  dis- 
criminating critics  in  England. 

**  First  proposal — This  came  on  rather  unexpectedly. 
His  name  is  Samuel  Caldwell,  and  he  is  a  curate  here 
for  his  health.  He  is  not  in  the  least  in  love  with 
me,  but  he  thinks  he  is,  and  so,  I  suppose,  it  comes 
to  the  same  thing.  He  began  by  saying  that  I  was 
the  only  one  '  ho  ever  understood  his  real  aspirations, 
and  that  if  I  would  join  my  lot  with  his  he  was  sure 
we  should  not  only  bring  happiness  to  ourselves,  but 
to  others  as  well.  I  told  him  gently  that  my  own 
highest  aspiration  was  to  write  a  successful  novel, 
and  this  horrified  him,  for  he  thinks  novels  are 
wicked.  He  has  gone  to  Grindelwald,  where  he 
thinks  the  air  is  more  suitable  for  his  lungs.  I  hardly 
count  this  as  a  proposal,  and  it  took  me  so  much  by 
surprise  that  it  was  half  over  before  I  realised  it  was 
actually  an  offer  of  his  heart  and  hand.  Besides, 
it  took  place  in  the  hotel  garden,  of  all  unlikely 
spots,  where  we  were  in  constant  danger  o*  Interrup- 
tion. 

"  Second  proposal— Richard  King  is  a  very  nice 
fellow,  and  was  tremendously  in  earnest.  He  says 
his  life  is  blighted,  but  he  will  soon  come  to  a 
different  opinion  at  Interlaken,  where  Margaret  Dunn 
writes  me  it  is  very  gay,  and  where  Richard  has 
gone.  Last  evening  wc  strolled  down  by  the  lake, 
and  he  suggested  that  we  should  go  out  on  the  water. 
He  engaged  a  boat  with  two  women  to  row,  one 
sitting  at   the    stern,  and    the   other   standing  at  the 


"OUT  OF  THUN." 


243 


ijunction 
my  book 
e  no  dis- 

pectedly. 
rate  here 
iove  with 
it  comes 
lat  1  was 
ipirations, 
J  was  sure 
;elves,  but 
:  my  own 
iul  novel, 
lovels   are 
where    he 
I  hardly 
much  by 
ed  it  was 
Besides, 
1  unlikely 
'nterrup- 

very  nice 
He  says 
ome   to   a 
aret  Dunn 

> 

ichard  has 

the  lake, 

the  water. 

■>  row,   one 

ing  at  the 


prow,  working  great  oars  that  looked  like  cricket- 
bats.  The  women  did  not  understand  English,  and 
we  floated  on  the  lake  until  the  moon  came  up  over 
the  snow  mountains.  Richard  leaned  over,  and  tried 
to  take  my  hand,  whispering,  in  a  low  voice,  *  Bessie.' 
I  confess  I  was  rather  in  a  flutter,  and  could  think 
of  nothing  better  to  say  than  'Sir!'  in  atone  of 
surprise  and  indignation.     He  went  on  hurriedly — 

"'  Bessie,'  he  said,  *we  have  known  each  other  only 
a  few  days,  but  in  those  few  days  I  have  lived  in  Par- 
adise.' 

"'Yes,'  I  answered,  gathering  my  wits  about  me; 
*  Humboldt  says  Thun  is  one  of  the  three ' 

"  Richard  interrupted  me  with  something  that 
sounded  remarkably  like  *  Hang  Thun  ! '  Then  he 
went  on,  and  said  that  I  was  all  the  world  to  him  ; 
that  he  could  not  live  without  me.  I  shook,  my 
head  slowly,  and  did  not  reply.  He  spoke  with 
a  fluency  that  seemed  to  suggest  practice,  but  I  told 
him  it  could  never  be.  Then  he  folded  his  arms, 
sitting  moodily  back  in  the  boat,  saying  I  had 
blighted  his  life.  He  did  look  handsome  as  he  sat 
there  in  the  moonlight,  with  a  deep  frown  on  his 
brow ;  but  I  could  not  help  thinking  he  sat  back 
purposely,  so  that  the  moonlight  might  strike  his 
face.  I  wish  I  could  write  down  the  exact  language 
he  used,  for  he  was  very  eloquent ;  but  somehow 
I  cannot  bring  myself  to  do  it,  even  in  this  book. 
I  am  sure,  however,  that  when  I  come  to  write  my 
novel,  and  turn  up  these  notes,  I  shall  recall  the 
words.  Still,  I  intended  to  put  down  the  exact 
phrases.     I  wish   I  could  take  notes  at  the  time,  but 


91 


I'ii 


244 


REVENGE! 


when  a  man  is  proposing  he  seems  to  want  all  your 
attention. 

"  A  fine,  stalwart  young  man  came  to  the  hotel 
to-day,  bronzed  by  mountain  climbing,  He  looks 
as  if  he  would  propose  in  a  manner  not  so  much  like 
all  the  rest.  I  have  found  that  his  name  is  Archibald 
Severance,  and  they  say  he  is  a  great  mountaineer. 
^'' lat  a  splendid  thing  a  proposal  on  the  high  Alps 
would  be  from  such  a  man,  with  the  gleaming  snow 
all  around !     I  think  I  shall  use  that  idea  in  the  book. 

"  Third,  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  proposals.  I  must 
confess  that  I  am  amazed  and  disappointed  with  the 
men.  Is  there  no  such  thing  as  originality  among 
mankind  ?  You  would  think  they  had  all  taken  lessons 
from  some  proposing  master ;  they  all  have  the  same 
formula.  The  last  four  began  by  calling  me  *  Bessie,* 
with  the  air  of  taking  a  great  and  important  step  in 
life.  Mr.  Wellman  varied  it  a  little  by  asking  me  to 
call  him  Jimmy,  but  the  principle  is  just  the  same. 
I  suppose  this  sameness  is  the  result  of  our  modern 
system  of  education.  I  am  «^ure  Archie  would  act 
differently.  I  am  not  certain  that  I  like  him,  but  he 
interests  me  more  than  any  of  the  others.  I  was  very 
angry  with  him  a  week  ago.  He  knows  it,  but  he 
doesn't  seem  to  care.  As  soon  as  Charley  Sanderson 
proposes,  I  will  see  what  can  be  done  with  Mr.  Archie 
Severance. 

**  I  like  the  name  Archie.  It  seems  to  suit  the 
young  man  exactly.  I  have  been  wondering  what 
sort  of  scenery  would  accord  best  with  Mr,  Severance's 
proposal.  I  suppose  a  glacier  would  be  about  the 
correct  thing,  for  I  imagine  Archie  is  rather  cold  and 


i( 


OUT  OF  THUN." 


245 


t  all  your 

the  hotel 
He  looks 
much  like 
Archibald 
luntaineer. 
high  Alps 
ming  snow 
I  the  book. 
s.  I  must 
d  with  the 
iity  among 
ken  lessons 
^e  the  same 
ne  '  Bessie,' 
ant  step  in 
king  me  to 

the  same. 
)ur  modern 
:  would  act 
-lim,  but  he 

I  was  very 
's  it,  but  he 
/  Sanderson 

Mr.  Archie 

to  suit  the 
dering  what 
Severance's 
:  about  the 
ler  cold  and 


sneering  wlien  he  is  not  in  very  good  humour.  The 
lake  would  be  too  placid  for  his  proposal  ;  and  when 
one  is  near  the  rapids,  one  cannot  hear  what  the  man 
is  saying.  I  think  the  Kohleren  Gorge  would  be  just 
the  spot ;  it  is  so  wild  and  romantic,  with  a  hundred 
waterfalls  dashing  down  the  precipices.  I  must  ask 
Archie  if  he  has  ever  seen  the  Kohleren  Falls.  I  sup- 
pose he  will  despise  them  because  they  are  not  up 
among  the  snow-peaks." 

III.— BESSIE'S    PROPOSAL. 

After  reading  the  book  which  he  had  no  business  to 
read,  Archie  closed  the  volume,  fastened  the  clasp,  and 
slipped  it  into  his  inside  pocket.  There  was  a  medita- 
tive look  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed  over  the  blue  lake. 

"  I  can't  return  it  to  her — now,"  Archie  said  to  him- 
self. *'  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  r.ad  it.  So  she  is 
not  a  flirt,  after  all,  but  merely  uses  us  poor  mortals 
as  models."  Archie  sighed.  *'  1  think  that's  better 
than  being  a  flirt — but  I'm  not  quite  sure.  I  suppose 
an  author  is  justified  in  going  to  great  lengths  to  en- 
sure the  success  of  so  important  a  thing  as  a  book.  It 
may  be  that  I  can  assist  her  with  this  tremendous 
work  of  fiction.  I  shall  think  about  it.  But  what  am 
I  to  do  about  this  little  diary  ?  I  must  think  about 
that  as  well.  I  can't  give  it  to  her  and  say  I  did  not 
read  it,  for  I  am  such  a  poor  band  at  lying.  Good 
heavens  !  I  believe  that  is  Bessie  coming  alone  along 
the  river-bank.  I'll  wager  she  has  missed  the  book 
and  knows  pretty  accurately  where  she  lost  it.  I'll 
place  it  where  I  found  it,  and  hide." 

The  line  of  trees  along  the  path  made  it  easy  for 


.:  i  1 

1 1 1 

'^"  ^'il 

t«  M 


*   r] 


i: 


■1.1 


246 


REVENGE! 


m        ■:::;  I 


Archie  to  carry  out  successfully  his  hastily  formed 
resolution.  He  felt  like  a  sneak,  a  feeling  he  thor- 
oughly merited,  as  he  dodged  behind  the  trees  and  so 
worked  his  way  to  the  main  road.  He  saw  Bessie 
march  straight  for  the  bench,  pick  up  the  book,  and 
walk  back  towards  the  hotel,  without  ever  glancing 
round,  and  her  definite  action  convinced  Archie  that 
she  had  no  suspicion  any  one  had  seen  her  book. 
This  made  the  young  man  easier  in  his  mind,  and  he 
swung  along  the  Interlaken  road  towards.  Thun,  flatter- 
ing himself  that  no  harm  had  been  done.  Neverthe- 
less, he  had  resolved  to  revenge  Miss  Bessie's  innocent 
victims,  and  as  he  walked,  he  turned  plan  after  plan 
over  in  his  mind.  Vengeance  would  be  all  the  more 
complete,  as  the  girl  had  no  idea  that  her  literary 
methods  were  known  to  any  one  but  herself. 

For  the  next  week  Archie  was  very  attentive  to 
Bessie,  and  it  must  be  recorded  that  the  pretty  young 
woman  seemed  to  appreciate  his  devotion  thoroughly 
and  to  like  it.  One  morning,  beautifully  arrayed  in 
walking  costume,  Bessie  stood  on  the  terrace,  appar- 
ently scanning  the  sky  eis  if  anxious  about  the  weather, 
but  in  reality  looking  out  for  an  escort,  the  gossips 
said  to  each  other  as  they  sat  under  the  awnings  busy 
at  needlework  and  slander,  for  of  course  no  such 
thought  was  in  the  young  lady's  mind.  She  smiled 
sweetly  when  Archie  happened  to  come  out  of  the 
billiard-room  ;  but  then  she  always  greeted  her  friends 
in  a  kindly  manner.  ,  -    . 

''Are  you  off  for  a  walk  this  morning?"  asked 
A.^jie,  in  the  innocent  tone  of  one  who  didn't  know, 
and  really  desired  the  information. 


"OUT  OF  THUN." 


247 


He  spoke  for  the  benefit  of  the  gossips  ;  but  they 
were  not  to  be  taken  in  by  any  such  transparent  de- 
vice. They  sniffed  with  contempt,  and  said  it  was 
brazen  of  the  two  to  pretend  that  they  were  not 
meeting  there  by  appointment. 

"Yes,"  said  Bessie,  with  a  saucy  air  of  defiance,  as 
if  she  did  not  care  who  knew  it ;  "I  am  going  by  the 
upper  road  to  the  Kohleren  Falls.  Have  you  ever 
seen  them  ? " 

"No.     Are  they  pretty  ?  " 

"  Pretty !  They  are  grand — at  least,  the  gorge  is, 
although,  perhaps,  you  would  not  think  cither  the 
gorge  or  the  falls  worth  visiting." 

"  How  can  I  tell  until  I  have  visited  them?  Won't 
you  be  my  guide  there?  " 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  have  you  come,  only 
you  must  promise  to  speak  respectfully  of  both  ravine 
and  falls." 

"  I  was  not  the  man  who  spoke  disrespectfully  of 
the  equator,  you  know,"  said  Archie,  as  they  walked 
off  together,  amidst  the  scorn  of  the  gossips,  who 
declared  they  had  never  seen  such  a  bold-faced  action 
in  their  lives.  As  their  lives  already  had  been  some- 
what lengthy,  an  idea  may  be  formed  of  the  heinous- 
ncss  of  Bessie's  conduct. 

It  took  the  pair  rather  more  than  an  hour  by  the 
upper  road,  overlooking  the  town  of  Thun  and  the  lake 
beyond,  to  reach  the  finger-board  that  pointed  down 
into  the  Kohleren  valley.  They  zigzagged  along  a 
rapidly  falling  path  until  they  reached  the  first  of  a 
series  of  falls,  roaring  into  a  deep  gorge  surrounded  by 
a  dense  forest.     Bessie  leaned  atrainst  the  frail  hand- 


in 


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248 


REVENGE! 


rail  and  gazed  into  the  depths,  Severance  standing  by 
her  side. 

The  young  man  was  the  first  to  speak,  and  when  he 
spoke  it  was  not  on  the  subject  of  the  cataract. 

"  Miss  Durand,"  he  said,  "  I  love  you.  I  ask  you  to 
be  my  wife." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Severance,"  replied  Bessie,  without  lifting 
her  eyes  from  the  foaming  chasm,  "  I  hope  that  noth- 
ing in  my  actions  has  Led  you  to " 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  are  about  to  refuse 
me?"  cried  Archie,  in  a  menacing  voice  that  sounded 
above  the  roar  of  the  falling  waters. 

Bessie  looked  quickly  up  at  him,  and,  seeing  a  dark 
frown  on  his  brow,  drew  slightly  away  from  him. 

**  Certainly  I  am  going  to  refuse  you.  I  have  known 
you  scarcely  more  than  a  week !  " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  tell  you,  girl, 
that  I  love  you.     Don't  you  understand  what  I  say?  " 

*'  I  understand  what  you  say  well  enough  ;  but  I 
don't  love  you.     Is  not  that  answer  sufficient  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  sufficient  if  it  were  true.  It  is  not 
true.  You  do  love  me.  I  have  seen  that  for  days ; 
although  you  may  have  striven  to  conceal  your  affection 
for  me,  it  has  been  evident  to  every  one,  and  more 
especially  to  the  man  who  loves  you.  Why,  then, 
deny  what  has  been  patent  to  all  on-lookers  ?  Have  I 
not  seen  your  face  brighten  when  I  approached  you  ? 
Have  I  not  seen  a  welcoming  smile  on  your  lips,  that 
could  have  had  but  one  meaning?  " 

"  Mr.  Severance,"  cried  Bessie,  in  unfeigned  alarm, 
"  have  you  gone  suddenly  mad  ?  How  dare  you  speak 
to  me  in  this  fashion  ?  " 


T 


<( 


OUT  OF  THUN." 


249 


anding  by 

d  when  he 

act. 

.  ask  you  to 

iiout  lifting 
;  that  noth- 

Lit  to  refuse 
lat  sounded 

;eing  a  dark 
n  him. 
have  known 

II  you,  girl, 
hat  I  say  ?  " 
)ugh;  but  I 
ent  ?  " 

It  is  not 
at  for  days; 
our  affection 
e,  and  more 
Why,  then, 
-rs?  Have  I 
oached  you  ? 
)ur  lips,  that 

igned  alarm, 
ire  you  speak 


**  Girl,"  shouted  Archie,  grasping  her  by  the  wrist, 
**  is  it  possible  that  I  am  wrong  in  supposing  you  care 
for  me,  and  that  the  only  other  inference  to  be  drawn 
from  your  actions  is  the  true  one?" 

"What  other  inference?"  asked  Bessie,  in  a  trem- 
bling voice,  trying  unsuccessfully  to  withdraw  her  wrist 
from  his  iron  grasp. 

"  That  you  have  been  trifling  with  me,"  hissed 
Severance  ;  "  that  you  have  led  me  on  and  on,  mean- 
ing nothing ;  that  you  have  been  pretending  to  care 
for  me  when  in  reality  you  merely  wanted  to  add  one 
more  to  the  many  proposals  you  have  received.  That 
is  the  alternative.  Now,  which  is  the  fact  ?  Are  you 
in  love  with  me,  or  have  you  been  fooling  me  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  I  was  not  in  love  with  you ;  but  I  did 
think  you  were  a  gentleman.  Now  that  I  see  you 
are  a  rufifian,  I  hate  you.  Let  go  my  wrist ;  you  are 
hurting  me." 

**  Very  good,  very  good.  Now  we  have  the  truth 
at  last,  and  I  will  teach  you  the  danger  of  making  a 
plaything  of  a  human  heart." 

Severance  released  her  wrist  and  seized  her  around 
the  waist.  Bessie  screamed  and  called  for  help,  while 
the  man  who  held  her  a  helpless  prisoner  laughed 
sardonically.  With  his  free  hand  he  thrust  aside  the 
frail  pine  pole  that  formed  a  hand-rail  to  guard  the 
edge  of  the  cliff.  It  fell  into  the  torrent  and  disap- 
peared down  the  cataract. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  cried  the  girl,  her 
eyes  wide  with  terror. 

"  I  intend  to  leap  with  you  into  this  abyss;  then  we 
shall  be  united  for  ever." 


\k^ 


250 


REVENGE! 


i>  '  'I 


"  Oh,  Archie,  Archie,  I  love  you  ! "  sobbed  Bessie, 
throwing  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  astonished 
young  man,  who  was  so  amazed  at  the  sudden  turn 
events  had  taken,  that,  in  stepping  back,  he  nearly 
accomplished  the  disaster  he  had  a  moment  before 
threatened. 

*' Then  why — why,"  he  stammered,  "did  you — why 
did  you  deny  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  because  I  am  con- 
trary, or  because,  as  you  said,  it  was  so  self-evident. 
Still,  I  don't  believe  I  would  ever  have  accepted  you 
if  you  hadn't  forced  me  to.  I  have  become  so  wearied 
with  the  conventional  form  of  proposal." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  it  does  get  rather  tiresome,"  said 
Archie,  mopping  his  brow.  "■  I  see  a  bench  a  little 
further  down  ;  suppose  we  sit  there  and  talk  the  matter 
over." 

He  gave  her  his  hand,  and  she  tripped  daintily  down 
to  the  bench,  where  they  sat  down  togetli„;. 

"You  don't  really  believe  I  was  such  a  rufifian  as  I 
pretended  to  be?"  said  Archie  at  last. 

"  Why,  yes ;  aren't  you  ?  "  she  asked  simply,  glanc- 
ing sideways  at  him  with  her  most  winning  smile. 

"You  surely  didn't  actually  think  I  was  going  to 
throw  you  over  the  clifY?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  often  heard  or  read  of  it  being  done. 
Were  you  only  pretending?" 

"  That's  all.     It  was  really  a  little  matter  of  revenge. 

I    thought    you    ought    to  be   punished    for  the  way 

you    had  used  those  other  fellows.     And   Sanderson 

was  such  a  good  hand  at  billiards.     I  could  just  beat 

nm. 


OUT  OF  THUN." 


251 


»ein£f  clone. 


"  You — you  said — you  cared  for  me.  Was  that 
pretence  too?"  asked  Bessie,  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice. 

"  No.  That  was  all  true,  Bessie,  and  there  is  where 
my  scheme  of  vengeance  goes  lame.  You  see,  my 
dear  girl,  I  never  thought  you  would  look  at  me  ; 
some  of  the  other  fellows  are  ever  so  much  better 
than  I  am,  and  of  course  I  did  not  imagine  I  had  any 
chance.  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me,  and  that  you 
won't  insist  on  having  a  real  revenge  by  withdrawing 
what  you  have  said." 

"  I  shall  have  revenge  enough  on  you,  Archie,  you 
poor,  deluded  young  man,  all  your  life.  But  never 
say  anything  about  '  the  other  fellows,'  as  you  call 
them.  There  never  was  any  other  fellow  but  you. 
Perhaps  I  will  show  you  a  little  book  some  day  that 
will  explain  everything,  although  I  am  afraid,  if  you 
saw  it,  you  might  think  worse  of  me  than  ever.  I 
think,  perhaps,  it  is  my  duty  to  show  it  to  you  before 
it  is  too  late  to  draw  back.     Shall  I  ?  " 

*'  I  absolutely  refuse  to  look  at  it — now  or  any  other 
time,"  said  Archie  magnanimously,  drawing  her  to- 
wards him  and  kissinij  her. 

And  Bessie,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  wondered  why  it 
was  that  men  have  so  much  less  curiosity  than  women. 
She  was  sure  that  if  he  had  hinted  at  any  such  secret 
she  would  never  have  rested  until  she  knew  what  it 
was.  • 


il!lll:ii:!!MI 


bi 


!l|l| 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 

In  the  bad  days  of  Balmeceda,  when  Chili  was  rent 
in  twain,  and  its  capital  was  practically  a  besieged 
city,  two  actors  walked  together  along  the  chief  street 
of  the  place  towards  the  one  theatre  that  was  then 
open.  They  belonged  to  a  French  dramatic  company 
that  would  gladly  have  left  Chili  if  it  could,  but,  being- 
compelled  by  stress  of  war  to  remain,  the  company 
did  the  next  best  thing,  and  gave  performances  at  the 
principal  theatre  on  such  nights  as  a  paying  audience 
came. 

A  stranger  would  hardly  have  suspected,  by  the 
look  of  the  streets,  that  a  deadly  war  was  going  on, 
and  that  the  rebels — so  called — were  almost  at  the 
city  gates.  Although  business  was  ruined,  credit 
dead,  and  no  man's  life  or  liberty  safe,  the  streets  were 
filled  with  a  crowd  that  seemed  bent  on  enjoyment 
and  making  the  best  of  things. 

As  Jacques  Dupr^  and  Carlos  Lemoine  walked  to- 
gether they  conversed  earnestly,  not  of  the  real  war 
so  close  to  their  doors,  but  of  the  mimic  conflicts  of 
the  stage.  M.  Dupr^  was  the  leading  man  of  the 
company,  and  he  listened  with  the  amused  tolerance 
of  an  elder  man  to  the  energetic  vehemence  of  the 
younger. 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


253 


"You  are  all  wrong,  Dupr,e,"  cried  Lemoine,  "all 
wrong.  I  have  studied  the  subject.  Remember,  I 
am  saying  nothing  against  your  acting  in  general. 
You  know  you  have  no  greater  admirer  than  I  am, 
and  that  is  something  to  say  wh-n  the  members  of  a 
dramatic  company  are  usually  at  loggerheads  through 
jealousy." 

"  Speak  for  yourself,  Lemoine.  You  know  I  am 
green  with  jealousy  of  you.  You  are  the  rising  star 
and  I  am  setting.  You  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new 
tricks,  Carl,  my  boy." 

"  That's  nonsense,  Dupr^.  I  wish  you  would  con- 
sider this  seriously.  It  is  because  you  are  so  good  on 
the  stage  that  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  false  to  your 
art  just  to  please  the  gallery.  You  should  be  above 
all  that." 

**  How  can  a  man  be  above  his  gallery — the  highest 
spot  in  the  house?  Talk  sense,  Carlos,  and  then  I'll 
listen." 

"Yes,  you're  flippant,  simply  because  you  know 
you're  wrong,  and  dare  not  argue  this  matter  soberly. 
Now  she  stabs  you  through  the  heart " 

"  No.  False  premises  entirely.  She  says  something 
about  my  wicked  hear.,  and  evidently  intends  to 
pierce  that  depraved  organ,  but  a  woman  never  hits 
what  she  aims  at,  and  I  deny  that  I'm  ever  stabbed 
through  the  heart.  Say  in  the  region  or  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  heart,  and  go  on  with  your  talk." 

"  Very  well.  She  stabs  you  in  a  spot  so  vital  that 
you  die  in  a  few  minutes.  You  throw  up  your  hands, 
you  stagger  against  the  mantel-sheK,  you  tear  open 
your  collar  and  then  grope  at  nothing,  you  press  your 


1 


1:;- 


i  i 


254 


REVENGE ! 


hands  on  your  wound  and  take  two  reeling  steps  for- 
ward, you  call  feebly  for  help  and  stumble  against  the 
sofa,  which  you  fall  upon,  and,  finally,  still  groping 
wildly,  you  roll  off  on  the  floor,  where  you  kick  out 
once  or  twice,  your  clinched  hand  comes  with  a  thud 
on  the  boards,  and  all  is  over." 

"  Admirably  described,  Carlos.  Lord  !  I  wish  my 
audience  paid  such  attention  to  my  efforts  as  you  do. 
Now  you  claim  this  is  all  wrong,  do  you  ?  " 

"  All  wrong." 

"  Suppose  she  stabbed  you,  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  I  would  plunge  forward  on  my  face — dead." 

"  Great  heavens  !  What  would  become  of  your  cur- 
tarn  r 

"  Oh,  hang  the  curtain  !  " 

"  It's  all  very  well  for  you  to  maledict  the  curtain, 
Carl,  but  you  must  work  up  to  it.  Your  curtain 
would  come  down,  and  your  friends  in  the  gallery 
wouldn't  know  what  had  happened.  Now  I  go 
through  the  evolutions  you  so  graphically  describe, 
and  the  audience  gets  time  to  take  in  the  situation. 
They  say,  chuckling  to  themselves,  *  that  villain's  got 
his  dose  at  last,  and  serve  him  right  too.*  They  want 
to  enjoy  his  struggles,  while  the  heroine  stands  grimly 
at  the  door  taking  care  that  he  doesn't  get  away. 
Then  when  my  fist  comes  down  flop  on  the  stage  and 
they  realise  that  I  am  indeed  done  for,  the  yell  of 
triumph  that  goes  up  is  something  delicious  to  hear." 

"  That's  just  the  point,  Dupr6.  I  claim  the  actor 
has  no  right  to  hear  applause — that  he  should  not 
know  there  is  sucli  a  thing  as  an  audience.  His  busi- 
ness is  to  portray  life  exactly  as  it  is." 


^,  i 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


255 


g  steps  for- 
against  the 
till  groping 
)u  kick  out 
^'ith  a  thud 

I  wish  my 
as  you  do. 


yo2t  do  ?  " 

ead." 

of  your  cur- 


the  curtain, 
our  curtain 
the  gallery 
Now  I  go 
lly  describe, 
le  situation, 
villain's  got 

They  want 
tands  grimly 

get  away, 
le  stage  and 
,  the  yell  of 
>us  to  hear." 
m  the  actor 
;  should  not 
His  busi- 


"  You  can't  portray  life  in  a  death  scene,  Carl." 

"  Duprd,  I  lose  all  patience  with  you,  or  rather  I 
would  did  I  not  know  that  you  arc  much  deeper  than 
you  would  have  us  suppose.  You  apparently  won't 
see  that  I  am  ver>'  much  in  earnest  about  this." 

"  Of  course  you  are,  my  boy  ;  and  that  is  one  reason 
why  you  will  become  a  very  great  actor.  I  was  am- 
bitious myself  once,  but  as  we  grow  older  " — Dupr^ 
shrugged  his  shoulders — "  well,  we  begin  to  have  an 
eye  on  box-ofifice  receipts.  I  think  you  sometimes 
forget  that  I  am  a  good  deal  older  than  you  are." 

"  You  mean  I  am  a  fool,  and  that  I  may  learn  wis- 
dom with  age.  I  quite  admit  you  are  a  better  actor 
than  I  am ;  in  fact  I  said  so  only-  a  moment  ago, 
but " 

** '  You  wrong  me,  Brutus  ;  I  said  an  elder  soldier,  not 
a  better.'  But  I  will  take  you  on  your  own  ground. 
Have  you  ever  seen  a  man  stabbed  or  shot  through 
the  heart  ?  " 

"  I  never  have,  but  I  know  mighty  well  he  wouldn't 
undo  his  necktie  afterwards." 

Dupr(^  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 

"  Who  is  flippant  now?  "  he  asked.  "I  don't  undo 
my  necktie,  I  merely  tear  off  my  collar,  which  a  dying 
man  may  surely  be  permitted  to  do.  But  until  you 
have  seen  a  man  die  from  such  a  stab  as  I  receive 
every  night,  I  don't  understand  how  you  can  justly 
find  fault  with  my  rendition  of  the  tragedy.  I  imagine, 
you  know,  that  the  truth  lies  bt.vveen  the  two  extremes. 
The  man  done  to  death  would  likely  not  make  such 
a  fuss  as  I  make,  nor  would  he  depart  so  quickly  as 
you  say  he  would,  without   giving   the   gallery  gods 


1 


II 


t 


256 


REVENGE! 


a  show  for  their  money.  But  here  we  are  at  the 
theatre,  Carlos,  and  this  acrimonious  debate  is  closed — 
until  we  take  our  next  walk  together." 

In  front  of  the  theatre,  soldiers  were  on  duty,  march- 
ing up  and  down  with  muskets  on  their  shoulders, 
to  show  that  the  state  was  mighty  and  could  take 
charge  of  a  theatre  as  well  as  conduct  a  war.  There 
were  many  loungers  about,  which  might  have  indi- 
cated to  a  person  who  did  not  know,  that  there 
would  be  a  good  house  when  the  play  began.  The 
two  actors  met  the  manager  in  the  throng  near  the 
door. 

"How  are  prospects  to-night  ?"  asked  Dupr^. 

"  Very  poor,"  replied  the  manager.  "  Not  half  a 
dozen  seats  have  been  sold." 

"  Then  it  isn't  worth  while  beginning?  " 

"  We  must  begin,"  said  the  manager,  lowering  his 
voice,  "the  President  has  ordere'd  me  not  to  close 
the  theatre." 

"Oh,  hang  the  President!"  cried  Lemoine  im- 
patiently. "  Why  doesn't  he  put  a  stop  to  the  war, 
and  then  the  theatre  w^ould  remain  open  of  its  own 
accord." 

"  He  is  doing  his  best  to  put  a  stop  to  the  war, 
only  his  army  does  not  carry  out  his  orders  as  im- 
plicitly as  our  manager  does,"  said  Dupr6,  smiling  at 
the  other's  vehemence. 

"  Balmeceda  is  a  fool,"  retorted  the  younger  actor. 
"  If  he  were  out  of  the  way,  the  war  would  not  last 
another  day.  I  believe  he  is  playing  a  losing  game, 
anyhow.  It's  a  pity  he  hasn't  to  go  to  the  front 
himself,  and  then  a  stray  bullet   might  find  him  and 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


^57 


put  an  end  to  the  war,  which  would  save  the  lives 
of  many  better  men." 

"  I  say,  Lcmoine,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  like  that," 
expostulated  the  manager  gently,  '*  e::pecially  when 
there  are  so  many  listeners." 

"  Oh  !  the  larger  my  audience,  the  better  I  like  it," 
rejoined  Len  oine.  "  I  have  all  an  actor's  vanity  in 
that  respect.  I  say  what  I  think,  and  I  don't  care 
who  hears  me." 

"  Yes,  but  you  forget  that  we  are,  in  a  measure, 
guests  of  this  country,  and  we  should  not  abuse  our 
hosts,  or  the  man  who  represents  them." 

**  Ah,  does  he  represent  them  ?  It  seems  to  me  you 
beg  the  whole  question  ;  that's  just  what  the  war  is 
about.  The  general  opinion  is  that  Balmeccda  mis- 
represents them,  and  that  the  country  would  be  glad 
to  be  rid  of  him." 

"That  may  all  be,"  said  the  manager  almost  in  a 
whisper,  for  he  was  a  man  evidently  inclined  towards 
peace  ;  "  but  it  does  not  rest  with  us  to  say  so.  We 
are  French,  and  I  think,  therefore,  it  is  better  not 
to  express  an  opinion. 

"  I'm  not  French,"  cried  Lemoinc.  "  I'm  a  native 
Chilian,  and  I  have  a  right  to  abuse  my  own  country 
if  I  choose  to  do  so." 

"  All  the  more  reason,  then,"  said  the  manager, 
looking  timorously  over  his  shoulder — "  all  the  more 
reason  that  you  should  be  careful  what  you  say." 

**  I  suppose,"  said  Dupre,  by  way  of  putting  an  end 
to  the  discussion,  '*  it  is  time  for  us  to  get  our  war- 
paint on.  Come  along,  Lemoine,  and  lecture  me  on 
our   common    art,   and   stop   talking    politics,   if  the 


P 


! 


II 


i  1 


(■I 


k*UJ 


I    !  '  ill 


258 


REVENGE! 


nonsense  you  utter  about  Chili  and  its  president  is 
politics." 

The  two  actors  entered  the  theatre;  they  occupied 
the  same  dressing-room,  and  the  volatile  Lemoine 
talked  incessantly. 

Although  there  were  but  few  people  in  the  stalls 
the  gallery  was  well  filled,  as  was  usually  the  case. 

When  going  on  for  the  ist  act  in  the  final  scene, 
Duprd  whispered  a  word  to  the  man  who  controlled 
the  falling  of  the  curtain,  and  when  the  actor,  as  the 
villain  of  the  piece,  received  the  fatal  knife-thrust 
from  the  ill-used  heroine,  he  plunged  forward  on  his 
face  and  died  without  a  struggle,  to  the  amazement  of 
the  manager,  who  was  watching  the  play  from  the 
front  of  the  house,  and  to  the  evident  bewilderment 
of  the  gallery,  who  had  counted  on  an  exciting  struggle 
with  death. 

Much  as  they  desired  the  cutting  off  of  the  villain, 
they  were  not  pleased  to  see  him  so  suddenly  shift 
his  worlds  without  an  agonising  realisation  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  quitting  an  existence  in  which  he 
had  done  nothing  but  evil.  The  curtain  came  down 
upon  the  climax,  but  there  was  no  applause,  and  the 
audience  silently  filtered  out  into  the  street. 

"  There,"  said  Dupre,  when  he  returned  to  his 
dressing-room ;  "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  now,  Le- 
moine, and  if  you  are,  you  are  the  only  satisfied  person 
in  the  house.  I  fell  perfectly  flat,  as  you  suggested, 
and  you  must  have  seen  that  the  climax  of  the 
play  fell  flat  also." 

"  Nevertheless,"  persisted  Lemoine,  stoutly,  "  it  was 
the  true  rendering  of  the  part." 


A  DRAMATIC  rOliNT. 


259 


)resident  is 

y  occupied 
i   Lemoine 

1  the  stalls 
le  case, 
final  scene, 
>  controlled 
ctor,  as  the 
knife-thrust 
,vard  on  his 
nazement  of 
ay  from  the 
ewilderment 
ting  struggle 

f  the  villain, 
ddenly  shift 
ation  of  the 
in  which  he 
came  down 
luse,  and  the 
et. 

irned  to  his 
ed  now,  Le- 
isfied  person 
u  suggested, 
max    of   the 

lutly,  "  it  was 


As  they  were  talking  the  manager  came  into  their 
dressing-room.  "  Good  heavens,  Dupr6  !  "  he  said, 
"  why  did  you  end  the  piece  in  that  idiotic  way  ?  What 
on  earth  got  into  you  ?  " 

"  The  knife,"  said  Dupr^,  flippantly.  "  It  went 
directly  through  the  heart,  and  Lemoine  here  insists 
that  when  that  happens  a  man  should  fall  dead  in- 
stantly.    I  did  it  to  please  Lemoine." 

"  But  you*  spoiled  your  curtain,"  protested  the 
manager. 

'*  Yes,  I  knew  that  would  happen,  and  I  told  Lemoine 
so ;  but  he  insists  on  art  for  art's  sake.  You  must 
expostulate  with  Lemoine,  although  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  both  frankly  that  I  don't  intend  to  die  in 
that  way  again." 

"  Well,  I  hope  not,"  replied  the  manager.  "  I  don't 
want  you  to  kill  the  play  as  well  as  yourself,  you 
know,  Dupr^." 

Lemoine,  whose  face  had  by  this  time  become 
restored  to  its  normal  appearance,  retorted  hotly — 

'*  It  all  goes  to  show  how  we  are  surrounded  and 
hampered  by  the  traditions  of  the  stage.  The  gallery 
wants  to  see  a  man  die  all  over  the  place,  and  so  the 
victim  has  to  scatter  the  furniture  about  and  make  a 
fool  of  himself  generally,  when  he  should  quietly  suc- 
cumb to  a  well-deserved  blow.  You  ask  any  physician 
and  he  will  tell  you  that  a  man  stabbed  or  shot  through 
the  heart  collapses  at  once.  There  is  no  jumping- 
jack  business  in  such  a  case.  He  doesn't  play  at  leap- 
frog with  the  chairs  and  sofas,  but  sinks  instantly  to 
the  floor  and  is  done  for/' . 

"  Come  along,  Lemoiite,"  cried  Dupr^,  putting  on 


I 
ii 


^ 

L 


II 


■ 


26o 


REVENGE ! 


l<;  In 


his  coat,  "  and  stop  talking  nonsense.  True  art  con- 
sists in  a  judicious  blending  of  the  preconceived  ideas 
of  the  gallery  with  the  usual  facts  of  the  case.  An 
instantaneous  photograph  of  a  trotting-horse  is  doubt- 
less technically  and  absolutely  correct,  yet  it  is  not  a 
true  picture  of  the  animal  in  motion." 

**  Then  you  admit,"  said  Lemoine,  quickly,  "  that  I 
am  technically  correct  in  what  I  state  about  the  result 
of  such  a  wound." 

"  I  admit  nothing,"  said  Dupre.  '*  I  don't  believe 
you  are  correct  in  anything  you  say  about  the  matter. 
I  suppose  the  truth  is  that  no  two  men  die  alike  under 
the  same  circumstances." 

**  They  do  when  the  heart  is  touched." 

**  What  absurd  nonsense  you  talk!  No  two  men 
act  alike  when  the  heart  is  touched  in  love,  why  then 
should  they  when  it  is  touched  in  death  ?  Come 
along  to  the  hotel,  and  let  us  stop  this  idiotic  dis- 
cussion." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Lemoine,  "  you  will  throw  your 
chances  away.  You  are  too  careless,  Dupre  ;  you  do 
not  study  enough.  This  kind  of  thing  is  all  very  well 
in  Chili,  but  it  will  wreck  your  chances  when  you  go 
to  Paris.  If  you  studied  more  deeply,  Dupre,  you 
would  take  Paris  by  storm." 

"  ThanivS,"  said  Dupre,  lightly;  'but  unless  the 
rebels  take  this  city  by  storm,  and  that  shortly,  we 
may  never  see  Paris  agcjn.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  have 
no  heart  for  anything  but  the  heroine's  knife.  I  am 
sick  and  tired  of  the  situation  here." 

As  Dupre  spoke  they  met  a  small  squad  of  soldiers 
coming   briskly   towt»rds   the    theatre.     The   man    in 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


261 


charge  evidently  recognised  them,  for,  saying  a  word 
to  his  men,  they  instantly  surrounded  the  ivvo  actors. 
The  sergeant  touched  Lemoine  on  the  shoulder,  and 
said — 

"  It  is  my  duty  to  arrest  you,  sir." 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  why?"  asked  Lemoine. 

The  man  did  not  answer,  but  a  soldier  stepped  to 
either  side  of  Lemoine. 

"Am  I  under  arrest  also  ?  "  asked  Dupr6. 

"  No." 

"  By  what  authority  do  you  arrest  my  friend  ?  "  in- 
quired Dupre. 

*'  By  the  President's  order." 

"But  where  is  your  authority?  Where  are  your 
papers  ?     Why  is  this  arrest  made  ?  "  ' 

The  sergeant  shook  his  head  and  said — 

"  We  have  the  orders  of  the  President,  and  that  is 
sufficient  for  us.     Stand  back,  please  !  " 

The  next  instant  Dupre  found  himself  alone,  with 
the  squad  and  their  prisoner  disappearing  down  a 
back  street.  For  a  moment  he  stood  there  as  if 
dazed,  then  he  turned  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could, 
back  to  the  theatre  again,  hoping  to  meet  a  carriage 
for  hire  on  the  way.  Arriving  at  the  theatre,  he 
found  the  lights  out,  and  the  manager  on  the  point  of 
leaving. 

"Lemoine  has  been  arrested,"  he  cried;  "arrested 
by  a  squad  of  soldiers  whom  we  met,  and  they  said 
they  acted  by  order  of  the  President." 

The  manager  seemed  thunderstruck  by  the  intelli- 
gence, and  gazed  helplessly  at  Dupre. 

"  What  is  the  charge  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 


id  IK 


ilii 


Ml 


1     ! 


262 


REVENGE! 


"That  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  actor.  *'  They 
simply  said  they  were  acting  under  the  President's 
orders." 

"  This  is  bad  ;  as  bad  as  can  be,"  said  the  manager, 
looking  over  his  shoulder,  and  speaking  as  if  in  fear. 
*'  Lemoine  has  been  talking  recklessly.  I  never  could 
get  him  to  realise  that  he  was  in  Chili,  and  that  he 
must  not  be  so  free  in  his  speech.  He  always  insisted 
that  this  was  the  nineteenth  century,  and  a  man  could 
say  what  he  liked ;  as  if  the  nineteenth  century  had 
anything  to  do  with  a  South  American  Republic." 

"You  don't  imagine,"  said  Dupre,  with  a  touch  of 
pallor  coming  into  his  cheeks,  "  that  this  is  anything 
serious.  It  will  mean  nothing  more  than  a  day  or  two 
in  prison  at  the  worst  ?  " 

The  manager  shook  his  head  and  said — 

"  We  had  better  get  a  carriage  and  see  the  Presi- 
dent as  soon  as  possible.  I'll  undertake  to  send 
Lemoine  back  to  Paris,  or  to  pui  him  on  board  one  of 
the  French  ironclads.  But  there  is  no  time  to  be  lost. 
We  can  probably  get  a  carriage  in  the  square." 

They  found  a  carriage  and  drove  as  quickly  as  they 
could  to  the  residence  of  the  President.  At  first  they 
were  refused  admittance,  but  finally  they  were  allowed 
to  wait  in  a  small  room  while  their  message  was  taken 
to  Balmeceda.  An  hour  passed,  but  still  no  invita- 
tion came  to  them  from  the  President.  The  manager 
sat  silent  in  a  corner,  while  Dupre  paced  up  and  down 
the  small  room,  torn  with  anxiety  about  his  friend. 
At  last  an  officer  entered,  and  presented  them  with 
the  compliments  of  the  President,  who  regretted  that 
it   was   impossible   for   him   to  see  them  that  night. 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


263 


or.     "  They 
President's 

le  manager, 
IS  if  in  fear. 

never  could 
and  that  he 
vays  insisted 
a  man  could 

century  had 
.epublic." 
1  a  touch  of 

is  anything 

a  day  or  two 


see  the  Presi- 

:ake  to    send 
board  one  of 

iTie  to  be  lost. 

luare." 

lickly  as  they 
At  first  they 
were  allowed 

age  was  taken 
till  no  invita- 
The  manager 
up  and  down 
lit  his  friend, 
id  them  with 
regretted  that 
m  that  night. 


The  officer  added,  for  their  information,  by  order  of 
the  President,  that  Lemoine  was  to  be  shot  at  day- 
break. He  had  been  tried  by  court-martial  and  con- 
demned to  death  for  sedition.  The  President  re- 
gretted having  kept  them  waiting  so  long,  but  the 
court-martial  had  been  sitting  when  they  arrived,  and 
the  President  thought  that  perhaps  they  would  be 
interested  in  knowing  the  verdict.  With  that  the 
officer  escorted  the  two  dumb-founded  men  to  the  door, 
where  they  got  into  their  carriage  without  a  word. 
The  moment  they  were  out  of  earshot  the  manager 
said  to  the  coachman — 

"  Drive  as  quickly  as  you  can  to  the  residence  of  the 
French  Minister." 

Every  one  at  the  French  Legation  had  retired 
when  these  two  panic-stricken  men  reached  there,  but 
after  a  time  the  secretary  consented  to  see  t..cm,  and, 
on  learning  the  seriousness  of  the  case,  he  undertook 
to  arouse  his  Excellency,  and  learn  if  anything  could 
be  done. 

The  Minister  entered  the  room  shortly  after,  and 
listened  with  interest  to  what  they  had  to  say. 

"You  have  your  carriage  at  the  door?  "  he  asked, 
when  they  had  finished  their  recital. 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  I  will  take  it  and  see  the  President  at  once. 
Perhaps  you  will  wait  here  until  I  return." 

Another  hour  dragged  its  slow  length  along,  and 
they  were  well  into  the  second  hour  before  the  rattle 
of  wheels  was  heard  in  the  silent  street.  The  Minis- 
ter came  in,  and  the  two  anxious  men  saw  by  his  face 
that  he  had  failed  in  his  mission. 


''  4 


III 


■»  i« 


264 


REVENGE! 


I  \ 


**  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  said  his  Excellency,  "  that  I 
have  been  unable  even  to  get  the  execution  postponed. 
I  did  not  understand,  waen  I  undertook  the  mission, 
that  M.  Lemoine  v/as  a  citizen  of  Chili.  You  see 
that  fact  puts  the  matter  entirely  out  of  my  hands.  I 
am  powerless.  I  could  only  advise  the  President  not 
to  carry  out  his  intentions  ;  but  he  is  to-night  in  a 
most  unreasonable  and  excited  mood,  and  I  fear  noth- 
ing can  be  done  to  save  your  friend.  If  he  had  been 
a  citizen  of  France,  of  course  this  execution  would 
not  have  been  permitted  to  take  place  ;  but,  as  it  is, 
it  is  not  our  affair.  M.  Lemoine  seems  to  have  been 
talking  with  some  indiscretion.  He  does  not  deny  it 
himself,  nor  does  he  deny  his  citizenship.  If  he  had 
taken  a  conciliatory  attitude  at  the  court-martial,  the 
result  might  not  have  been  so  disastrous ;  but  it 
seems  that  he  insulted  the  President  to  his  face,  and 
predicted  that  he  would,  within  two  weeks,  meet  him 
in  Hades.  The  utmost  I  could  do,  was  to  get  the 
President  to  sign  a  permit  for  you  to  see  your  friend, 
if  you  present  it  at  the  prison  before  the  execution 
takes  place.  I  fear  you  have  no  time  to  lose.  Here 
is  the  paper." 

Dupre  took  the  document,  and  thanked  his  Ex- 
cellency for  his  exertions  on  their  behalf.  He  realised 
that  Lemoine  had  sealed  his  own  fate  by  his  inde- 
pendence and  lack  of  tact. 

The  two  dejected  men  drove  from  the  Legation 
and  through  the  deserted  streets  to  the  prison.  They 
were  shown  through  several  stone-paved  rooms  to  a 
stone-paved  courtyard,  and  there  they  waited  for 
some  time  until  the  prisoner  was  brought  in  between 


11 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


265 


two  soldiers.  Lemoine  had  thrown  off  his  coat,  and 
appeared  in  his  shirt  sleeves.  He  was  not  manacled 
or  bound  in  any  way,  there  being  too  many  prisoners 
for  each  one  to  be  allowed  the  luxury  of  fetters. 

"  Ah,"  cried  Lemoine  when  he  saw  them,  "  I  knew 
you  would  come  if  that  old  scoundrel  of  a  President 
would  allow  you  in,  of  which  I  had  my  doubts.  How 
did  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"  The  French  Minister  got  us  a  permit,"  said  Dupr^, 

"  Oh,  you  went  to  him,  did  you  ?  Of  course  he 
could  do  nothing,  for,  as  I  told  you,  I  have  the  mis- 
fortune to  be  a  citizen  of  this  country.  How  comically 
life  is  made  up  of  trivialities.  I  remember  once,  in 
Paris,  going  with  a  friend  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance 
to  the  French  Republic." 

"  And  did  you  take  it  ?  "  cried  Dupr4  eagerly. 

"  Alas,  no  !  We  met  two  other  friends,  and  we  all 
adjourned  to  a  cafe  and  had  something  to  drink.  I 
little  thought  that  bottle  of  champagne  was  going  to 
cost  me  my  life,  for,  of  course,  if  I  had  taken  the  oath 
of  allegiance,  my  friend,  the  French  Minister,  would 
have  bombarded  the  city  before  he  would  have  al- 
lowed the  execution  to  go  on." 

"Then  you  know  to  what  you  are  condemned,"  said 
the  manager,  w^ith  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  Balmeceda  thinks  he  is  going  to 
have  me  shot ;  but  then  he  always  was  a  fool,  and 
never  knew  what  he  was  talking  about.  I  told  him 
if  he  would  allow  you  two  in  at  the  execution,  and 
instead  of  having  a  whole  squad  to  fire  at  me,  order 
one  expert  marksman,  if  he  had  such  a  thing  in  his 
whole   army,  to   shoot  me  through  the  heart,  that  I 


I' 


1 


266 


REVENGE! 


would  show  you,  Dupr6,  how  a  man  dies  under  such 
circumstances,  but  the  villain  refused.  The  usurper 
has  no  soul  for  art,  or  anything  else,  for  that  matter. 
I  hope  you  won't  mind  my  death.  I  assure  you  I 
don't  mind  it  myself.  I  would  much  rather  be  shot 
than  live  in  this  confounded  country  any  longer. 
But  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  cheat  old  Balmeceda 
if  I  can,  and  I  want  you,  Dupre,  to  pay  particular  at- 
tention, and  not  to  interfere." 

As  Lemoine  said  this  he  quickly  snatched  from  the 
sheath  at  the  soldier's  side  the  bayonet  which  hung 
at  his  hip.  The  soldiers  were  standing  one  to  the 
right,  and  one  to  the  left  of  him,  with  their  hands 
interlaced  over  the  muzzles  of  their  guns,  whose  butts 
rested  on  the  stone  floor.  They  apparently  paid  no 
attention  to  the  conversation  that  was  going  on,  if 
they  understood  it,  which  was  unlikely.  Lemoine  had 
the  bayonet  in  his  hands  before  either  of  the  four 
men  present  knew  what  he  was  doing. 

Grasping  both  hands  over  the  butt  of  the  bayonet, 
with  the  point  towards  his  breast,  he  thrust  the  blade 
with  desperate  energy  nearly  through  his  body.  The 
whole  action  was  done  so  4uickly  that  no  one  realised 
what  had  happened  until  Lemoine  threw  his  hands  up 
and  they  saw  the  bayonet  sticking  in  his  breast.  A 
look  of  agony  came  in  the  wounded  man's  eyes,  and 
his  lips  whitened.  He  staggered  against  the  soldier 
at  his  right,  who  gave  way  with  the  impact,  and  then 
he  tottered  against  the  whitewashed  stone  wall,  his 
right  arm  sweeping  automatically  up  and  down  the 
wall  as  if  he  were  brushing  something  from  iY  ' 
stones.     A   groan  escaped  him,  and   he   dropped   c  . 


under  such 
The  usurper 
that  matter, 
issure  you  I 
Lther  be  shot 

any  longer, 
d  Balmeceda 
particular  at- 

led  from  the 

which  hung 
;   one    to  the 

their  hands 
,  whose  butts 
ntly  paid  no 

going  on,  if 
Lemoine  had 

of  the   four 

the  bayonet, 
ust  the  blade 
;  body.  The 
3  one  realised 

his  hands  up 
is  breast.  A 
m's  eyes,  and 
3t  the  soldier 
act,  and  then 
tone  wall,  his 
nd  down  the 
ng  from   iY  ' 

dropped    c  . 


(;!-m^nt..i 


L 


MY  GOD,    VOL-   WKRIC    KK.III    AP  IKR    ALL  '  "-  /b,<-,    ^r, 


If- 


A  DRAMATIC  POINT. 


267 


one  knee.     His  eyes  turned  helplessly  towards  Dupr^, 

and  he  f^asped  out  the  words — 

•*  My  God  !     You  were  right — after  all." 

Then  he  fell  forward  on  his  face  and  the  tragedy 

ended. 


m 


■ilj'i 


i 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES. 

Prince  Padema  sat  desolately  on  his  lofty  balcony 
at  Florence,  and  cursed  things  generally.  Fate  had 
indeed  dealt  hardly  with  the  young  man. 

The  Prince  had  been  misled  by  the  apparent  reason- 
ableness of  the  adage,  that  if  you  want  a  thing  well 
done  you  should  do  it  yourself.  In  committing  a 
murder  it  is  always  advisable  to  have  some  one  else  to 
do  it  for  you,  but  the  Prince's  plans  had  been  several 
times  interfered  with  by  the  cowardice  or  inefficiency 
of  his  emissaries,  so  on  one  unfortunate  occasion  he 
had  determined  to  remove  an  objectionable  man  with 
his  own  hand,  and  realised  then  how  easily  mistakes 
may  occur. 

He  had  met  the  man  face  to  face  under  a  corner 
lamp  in  Venice.  The  recognition  was  mutual,  and 
the  man,  fearing  his  noble  enemy,  had  fled.  The 
Prince  pursued,  and  the  man  apparently  tried  to 
double  upon  him,  and,  with  his  cloak  over  his  face, 
endeavoured  to  sneak  past  along  the  dark  wall.  When 
the  Prince  deftly  ran  the  dagger  into  his  vitals,  he 
was  surprised  that  the  man  made  no  resistance  or 
outcry,  made  no  effort  to  ward  off  the  blow,  but  sunk 
lifeless  at  the  Prince's  feet  with  a  groan. 

Alarmed  at  this,  the  Prince  bade  his  servant  drag 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES.       269 


the  body  to  a  spot  where  a  votive  lamp  set  in  the 
wall  threw  dim  yellow  rays  to  the  pavement.  Then 
his  Highness  was  appalled  to  see  that  he  had  assassi- 
nated a  scion  of  one  of  the  noblest  families  of  Venice, 
which  was  a  very  different  thing  from  murdering 
a  man  of  low  degree  whose  life  the  law  took  little 
note  of. 

So  the  Prince  had  to  flee  from  Venice,  and  he  took 
up  his  residence  in  a  narrow  steet  in  an  obscure  part 
of  Florence. 

Seldom  had  fate  played  a  man  so  scurvy  a  trick, 
and  the  Prince  was  fully  justified  in  his  cursing,  for 
the  unfortunate  episode  had  interrupted  a  most  ab- 
sorbing amour  which,  at  that  moment,  was  rapidly 
approaching  an  interesting  climax. 

Prince  Padema  had  been  several  weeks  in  Florence, 
and  those  weeks  had  been  deadly  dull.  *'  The  women 
of  Florence,"  he  said  to  himself  bitterly,  "  are  not 
to  be  compared  with  those  of  Venice."  But  even 
if  they  had  been,  the  necessity  of  keeping  quiet,  for 
a  time  at  least,  would  have  prevented  the  Prince  from 
taking  advantage  of  h»  enforced  sojourn  in  the  fair 
city. 

On  this  particular  evening,  the  Prince's  sombre 
meditations  were  interrupted  by  a  song.  The  song 
apparently  came  from  the  same  building  in  which  his 
suite  of  rooms  were  situated,  and  from  an  open 
window  some  distance  below  him.  What  caught  his 
attention  was  the  fact  that  the  song  was  Venetian, 
and  the  voice  that  sang  it  was  the  rich  mellow  voice 
of  Venice. 

There  were  other  exiles,  then,  beside  himself.     He 


i. 


I  ■ 


2/0 


REVENGE! 


!  ilil 


peered  over  the  edge  of  the  balcony  perched  like  an 
eagle's  nest  hi<^h  above  the  narrow  stone  street,  and 
endeavoured  lO  locate  the  open  windov/  from  which 
the  song  came,  or,  better  still,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
the  singer. 

For  a  time  he  was  unsuccessful,  but  at  last  his 
patience  was  rewarded.  On  a  balcony  to  the  right, 
and  some  distance  below  his  own,  there  appeared  the 
most  beautiful  girl  even  he  had  ever  seen.  The  dark, 
oval  face  was  so  distinctly  Venetian  that  he  almost 
persuaded  himself  he  had  met  her  in  his  native  town. 

She  stood  with  her  hands  on  the  top  rail  of  the 
balcony,  her  dark  hair  tumbled  in  rich  confusion  over 
her  shapely  shoulders.  The  golden  light  in  the 
evening  sky  touched  her  face  with  glory,  as  she 
looked  towards  it,  or  that  part  of  it  that  could  be  seen 
at  the  end  of  the  narrow  street. 

The  Prince's  heart  beat  high  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
face  that  was  unconscious  of  his  scrutiny.  Instantly 
the  thought  flashed  over  him  that  exile  in  Florence 
might,  after  all,  have  its  compensations. 

"  Pietro,"  he  whispered  softly  through  his  own  open 
windows  to  the  servant  who  was  moving  silently 
about  the  room,  '*  vjome  here  for  a  moment,  quietly." 

The  servant  came  stealthily  to  the  edge  of  the 
window. 

"You  see  that  girl  on  the  lower  balcony,"  said  the 
Prince  in  a  whisper. 

Pietro  nodded. 

"  Find  out  for  me  who  she  is — why  she  is  here — 
whether  she  has  any  friends.  Do  it  silently,  so  as  to 
arouse  no  suspicion." 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES.       271 

Again  his  faithful  servant  nodded,  and  disappeared 
into  the  gloom  of  the  room. 

Next  day  Pietro  brought  to  his  eager  master  what 
information  he  had  been  able  to  glean.  He  had  suc- 
ceeded in  forming  the  acquaintance  of  the  Signorina's 
maid. 

For  some  reason,  uhich  the  maid  either  did  not 
know  or  would  not  disclose,  the  Signor.ina  was  ex- 
iled for  a  time  from  Venice.  She  belonged  to  a 
good  family  there,  but  the  name  of  the  family  the 
maid  also  refused  to  divulge.  She  dared  not  tell  it, 
she  said.  They  had  been  in  Florence  for  several 
weeks,  but  had  only  taken  the  rooms  below  within 
the  last  two  days.  The  Signorina  received  absolutely 
no  one,  and  the  maid  had  been  cautioned  to  say 
nothing  whatever  about  her  to  any  person  ;  but  she 
had  apparently  succumbed  in  a  measure  to  the  bland- 
ishments of  gallant  Pietro. 

The  rooms  had  been  taken  because  of  their  quiet 
and  obscure  position. 

That  evening  the  Prince  was  again  upon  his  balcony, 
but  his  thoughts  were  not  so  bitter  as  they  had  been 
the  day  before.  He  had  a  bouquet  of  beautiful  flowers 
beside  him.  He  liste*  "d  for  the  Venetian  song,  but 
was  disappointed  at  not  hearing  it :  and  he  hoped 
that  Pietro  had  not  been  so  injudicious  as  to  arouse 
the  suspicions  of  the  maid,  who  might  communicate 
them  to  her  mistress.  He  held  his  breath  eagerly  as 
he  heard  the  windows  below  open.  The  maid  came 
out  on  the  balcony  and  placed  an  easy-chair  in 
the  corner  of  it.  .  She  deftly  arranged  the  cushions 
and  the  drapery   of   it,  and  presently  the   Signorina 


i 


J'ii 


2/2 


REVENGE! 


herself  appeared,  and  with  languid  grace  seated  her- 
self. 

The  Prince  had  now  a  full  view  of  her  lovely  face, 
as  the  girl  rested  her  elbow  on  the  railing  of  the 
balcony,  and  her  cheek  upon  her  hand. 

"  You  may  go  now,  Pepita,"  said  the  girl. 

The  maid  threw  a  lace  shawl  over  the  shoulders  of 
her  mistress,  and  departed. 

The  Prince  leaned  over  the  balcony  and  whispered, 
'*  Signorina." 

The  startled  girl  looked  up  and  down  the  street, 
and  then  at  the  balcony  which  stood  out  against  the 
opalescent  sky,  the  t  "acery  of  ironwork  showing  like 
delicate  etching  on  the  luminous  background. 

She  flushed  and  dropped  her  eyes,  making  no  reply. 

"  Signorina,"  repeated  the  Prince,  "  I,  too,  am  an 
exile.  Pardon  me.  It  is  in  remembrance  of  our  lovely 
city  ;  "  and  with  that  he  lightly  flung  the  bouquet, 
which  fell  at  her  feet  on  the  floor  of  the  balcony. 

For  a  few  moments  the  girl  did  not  move  nor  raise 
her  eyes ;  then  she  cast  a  quick  glance  through  the 
open  window  .nto  her  room.  After  some  slighi 
hesitation  she  stooped  gracefully  and  picked  up  the 
bouquet. 

"Ah,  beautiful  Venice!  "  she  murmured  with  a  sigh, 
still  not  looking  upwards. 

The  Prince  was  delighted  with  the  success  of  his 
first  advance,  which  is  always  the  difificult  step. 

Evening  after  evening  they  sat  there  later  and 
later.  The  acquaintance  ripened  to  its  inevitable  con- 
clusion— the  conclusion  the  Prince  had  counted  on 
from  the  first. 


oulders  of 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES.       273 

One  evening  she  stood  in  the  darkness  with  her 
cheek  pressed  against  the  wall  at  the  corner  of  her 
balcony  nearest  to  him  ;  he  looked  over  and  down- 
ward at  her. 

"  It  cannot  be.  It  cannot  be,"  she  said,  with  a 
frightened  quaver  in  her  voice,  but  a  quaver  which  the 
Prince  recognised,  with  his  laige  experience,  as  the 
tone  of  yielding. 

**  It  must  be,"  he  whispered  down  to  her.  *'  It  was 
ordained  from  the  first.     It  has  to  be." 

The  girl  was  weeping  silently. 

"  It  is  impossible,"  she  said  at  last.  "  My  servant 
sleeps  outside  my  door.  Even  if  she  did  not  know, 
your  servant  would,  and  there  would  be  gossip — and 
scandal.     It  is  impossible." 

"  Nothing  is  impossible,"  cried  the  Prince  eagerly, 
"  where  true  love  exists.  I  shall  lock  my  door,  and 
Pietro  shall  know  nothing  about  it.  He  never  comes 
unless  I  call  him.  I  will  get  a  rope  and  throw  it  to 
your  balcony.  Lock  you  your  door  as  I  do  mine. 
In  the  darkness  nothing  is  seen." 

"  No,  no,"  she  murmured.  "  That  would  not  do. 
You  could  not  climb  back  again,  and  all  would  be 
lost." 

'*  Oh,  nonsense ! "  cried  the  young  man  eagerly. 
"  It  is  nothing  to  climb  back."  He  was  about  to 
add  that  he  had  done  it  frequently  before,  but  he 
checked  himself  in  time. 

For  a  moment  she  was  silent.  Then  she  said  :  "  I 
cannot  risk  your  not  getting  back.  It  must  be  cer- 
tain. If  you  get  a  rope — a  strong  rope — and  put  a 
loop  in  it  for  your  foot,  and  pass  the  other  end  of  the 


^1 


' 


I 


I  1< 


jfe- 


274 


REVENGE! 


rj:^ 


rope  to  me  around  the  staunchest  railing  of  your 
balcony,  I  will  let  you  down  to  the  level  of  my  own. 
Then  you  can  easily  swing  yourself  within  reach.  If 
you  find  you  cannot  climb  back,  I  can  help  you,  by 
pulling  on  the  rope  and  you  will  ascend  as  you  came 
down." 

The  Prince  laughed  lightly. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  said,  "  that  your  frail  hands  are 
stronger  than  mine  ?  " 

*'  Four  hands,"  she  replied,  "  are  stronger  than  two. 
Besides,  I  am  not  so  weak  as,  perhaps,  you  think." 

"  Very  well,"  he  replied,  not  in  a  mood  to  cavil 
about  trivialities,     "  When  shall  it  be — to-night  ?  " 

"  No  ;  to-morrow  night.  You  must  get  your  rope 
to-morrow." 

Again  the  Prince  laughed  quietly. 

"  I  have  the  rope  in  my  room  now,"  he  answered. 

"You  were  very  sure,"  she  said  softly. 

"  No,  not  sure.  I  was  strong  in  hope.  Is  your 
door  locked  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  in  an  agitated  whisper.  "  But  it 
is  still  early.     Wait  an  hour  or  tw^o." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  Prince,  "it  will  never  be  darker 
than  at  this  moment,  and  think,  my  darling,  how  long 
I  have  waited  !  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Stand  inside  the  window,"  whispered  the  Prince. 
As  she  did  so  a  coil  of  rope  fell  on  the  balcony. 

"  Have  you  got  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes,"  was  the  scarcely  audible  reply. 

"  Then  don't  trust  to  your  own  strength.  Give  it  a 
turn  around  the  balcony  rail." 


\g  of  your 
:>{  my  own. 
L  reach.  If 
elp  you,  by 
5  you  came 

ul  hands  are 

er  than  two. 
,u  think." 
ood    to  cavil 
)-night?  " 
ret  your  rope 

e  answered. 

3pe.     Is  your 

sper.     "But  it 

jver  be  darker 
■ling,  how  long 

•ed  the  Prince, 
alcony. 


y 


1 


gth.    Give  it  a 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES.       275 

"  I  have  done  so,"  she  whispered. 

Although  he  could  not  see  !ier  because  of  the  dark- 
ness, she  saw  him  silhouetted  against  the  night  sky. 

He  tested  the  loop,  putting  his  foot  in  it  and  pulling 
at  the  rope  with  both  hands.  Then  he  put  the  rope 
round  the  corner  support  of  the  balcony. 

*'  Are  you  sure  the  rope  is  strong  enough  ?  "  she 
asked.     "  Who  bought  it  ?  " 

"  Pietro  got  it  for  me.  It  is  strong  enough  to  hold 
ten  men." 

His  foot  was  in  the  loop,  and  he  slung  himself  from 
his  balcony,  holding  the  rope  with  both  hands. 

**  Let  it  go  very  gently,"  he  said.  "  I  will  tell  you 
when  you  have  lowered  enough." 

Holding  the  end  of  the  rope  firmly,  the  girl  let  it 
out  inch  by  inch. 

"  That  is  enough,"  the  Prince  said  at  last ;  and.she 
held  him  where  he  was,  leaning  over  the  balcony 
towards  him. 

"Prince  Padema,"  she  said  to  him. 

•*  Ah  !  "  cried  the  man  with  a  start.  **  How  did  you 
learn  my  name?" 

"  I  have  long  known  it.  It  is  a  name  of  sorrow  to 
our  family. 

"  Prince,"  she  continued,  "  have  you  never  seen 
anything  in  my  face  that  brought  recollection  to  you  ? 
Or  is  your  memory  so  short  that  the  grief  you  bring 
to  others  leaves  no  trace  on  your  own  mind  ?  " 

"  God  !  "  cried  the  Prince  in  alarm,  seizing  the  rope 
above  him  as  if  to  climb  back.  "  What  do  you 
mean?" 

The  girl  loosened  the  rope  for  an  inch  or  two,  and 


I 


2/6 


REVENGE! 


the  Prince  was  lowered  with  a  sickening  feeling  in  his 
heart  as  he  realised  his  position  a  hundred  feet  above 
the  stone  street. 

"  I  can  see  you  plainly,"  said  the  girl  in  hard  and 
husky  tones.  "  If  you  make  an  attempt  to  climb  to 
your  balcony,  I  will  at  once  loosen  the  rope.  Is  it 
possible  you  have  not  suspected  who  I  am,  and  why  I 
am  here?" 

The  Prince  was  dizzy.  He  had  whirled  gently 
around  in  one  direction  for  some  time,  but  now  the 
motion  ceased,  and  he  began  to  revolve  with  equal 
gentleness  in  the  other  direction,  like  the  body  of  a 
man  who  is  hanged. 

A  sharp  memory  pierced  his  brain. 

"  Meela  is  dead,"  he  cried,  with  a  gasp  in  his  breath. 
"  She  was  drowned.  You  are  flesh  and  blood.  Tell 
me  you  are  not  her  spirit  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  that,"  answered  the  girl.  "  My 
own  spirit  seemed  to  leave  me  when  the  body  of  my 
sister  was  brought  from  the  canal  at  the  foot  of  our 
garden.  You  know  the  place  well ;  you  know  the 
gate  and  the  steps.  I  think  her  spirit  then  took  the 
place  of  my  own.  Ever  since  that  day  I  have  lived 
only  for  revenge,  and  now.  Prince  Padema,  the  hour  I 
have  waited  for  is  come." 

An  agonising  cry  for  help  rang  through  the  silent 
street,  but  there  was  no  answer  to  the  call. 

"  It  is  useless,"  said  the  girl  calmly.  ''  It  will  be 
accounted  an  accident.  Your  servant  bought  the 
rope  that  will  be  found  with  you.  Any  one  who 
knows  you  will  have  an  explanation  ready  for  what 
has  happened.     No  one  will  suspect  me,  and  I  want 


TWO  FLORENTINE  BALCONIES.       2;; 


you  to  know  that  your  death  will  be  unavenged, 
prince  though  you  are." 

*'  You  are  a  demon,"  he  cried. 

She  watched  him  silently  as  he  stealthily  climbed 
up  the  rope.  He  did  not  appear  sufficiently  to  real- 
ise how  visible  his  body  was  against  the  still  luminous 
sky.  When  he  was  within  a  foot  of  his  balcony  she 
loosened  the  rope,  and  again  he  sunk  to  where  he  had 
been  before,  and  hung  there  exhausted  by  his  futile 
effort. 

"  I  will  marry  you,"  he  said,  "  if  you  will  let  me 
reach  my  balcony  again.  I  will,  upon  my  honour. 
You  shall  be  a  princess." 

She  laughed  lightly. 

"  We  Venetians  never  forget  nor  forgive.  Prince 
Padema,  good-bye ! " 

She  sunk  fainting  in  her  chair  as  she  let  go  the  rope, 
and  clapped  her  hands  to  her  ears,  so  that  no  sound 
came  up  from  the  stone  street  below.  When  she 
staggered  into  her  room,  all  was  silence. 


I 


tw 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD. 

The  large  mansion  of  Louis  Heckle,  millionaire 
and  dealer  in  gold  mines,  was  illuminated  from  top  to 
bottom.  Carriages  were  arriving  and  departing,  and 
guests  were  hurrying  up  the  carpeted  stair  after  pass- 
ing under  the  canopy  that  stretched  from  the  door- 
way to  the  edge  of  the  street.  A  crowd  of  on-lookers 
stood  on  the  pavement  watching  the  arrival  of  ladies 
so  charmingly  eittired.  Lord  Stansford  came  alone  in 
a  hansom,  and  he  walked  quickly  across  the  bit  of 
carpet  stretched  to  the  roadway,  and  then  more 
leisurely  up  the  broad  stair.  He  was  an  athletic 
young  fellow  of  twenty-six,  or  thereabout.  The  mo- 
ment he  entered  the  large  reception-room  his  eyes 
wandered,  searchingly,  over  the  gallant  company,  ap- 
parently looking  for  some  one  whom  he  could  not 
find.  He  passed  into  a  further  room,  and  through 
that  into  a  third,  and  there,  his  searching  gaze  met 
the  stare  of  Billy  Heckle.  Heckle  was  a  young  man 
of  about  the  same  age  as  Lord  Stansford,  and  he  also 
was  seemingly  on  the  look-out  for  some  one  among 
the  arriving  guests.  The  moment  he  saw  Lord  Stans- 
ford a  slight  frown  gathered  upon  his  brow,  and  he 
moved  among  the  throng  toward  the  spot  where  the 
other  stood.  Stansford  saw  him  coming,  and  did  not 
seem  to  be  so  pleased  as  might  have  been  expected. 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  279 


but  he  made  no  motion  to  avoid  the  young  man,  who 
accosted  him  without  salutation. 

"  Look  here,"  said  Heckle  gruffly,  "  I  want  a  word 
with  you." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Stansford,  in  a  low  voice ; 
"so  long  as  you  speak  in  tones  no  one  else  can  hear, 
I  am  willing  to  listen." 

"  You  will  listen,  whether  or  no,"  replied  the  other, 
who,  nevertheless,  took  the  hint  and  subdued  his 
voice.  '*  I  have  met  you  on  various  occasions  lately, 
and  I  want  to  give  you  a  word  of  warning.  You 
seem  to  be  very  devoted  to  Miss  Linderham,  so  per- 
haps you  do  not  know  she  is  engaged  to  me." 

"  I  have  heard  it  so  stated,"  said  Lord  Stansford, 
"  but  I  have  found  some  difficulty  in  believing  the 
statement." 

"  Now,  see  here,"  cried  the  horsey  young  man,  "  I 
want  none  of  your  cheek,  and  I  give  you  fair  warning 
that,  if  you  pay  any  more  attention  to  the  young 
lady,  I  shall  expose  you  in  public.  I  mean  what  I  say, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  stand  any  of  your  nonsense." 

Lord  Stansford's  face  grew  pale,  and  he  glanced 
about  him  to  see  if  by  chance  any  one  had  overheard 
the  remark.  He  seemed  about  to  resent  it,  but  finally 
gained  control  over  himself  and  said — 

"We  are  in  your  father's  house,  Mr.  Heckle,  and  I 
suppose  it  is  quite  safe  to  address  a  remark  like  that 
to  me ! " 

"I  know  it's  quite  safe — anywhere,"  replied  Heckle. 
"  You've  got  the  straight  tip  from  me  ;  now  see  you 
pay  attention  to  it." 

Heckle  turned    away,   and   Lord   Stansford,  after 


I 


28o 


REVENGE! 


standing  there  for  a  moment,  wandered  back  to  the 
middle  room.  The  conversation  had  taken  place 
somewhat  near  a  heavily-curtained  window,  and  the 
two  men  stood  slightly  apart  from  the  other  guests. 
When  they  left  the  spot  the  curtains  were  drawn 
gently  apart,  and  a  tall,  very  handsome  young  lady 
stepped  from  between  them.  She  watched  Lord 
Stansford's  retreat  for  a  moment,  and  then  made  as 
though  she  would  follow  him,  but  one  of  her  admirers 
came  forward  to  claim  her  hand  for  the  first  .  ice. 
"  Music  has  just  begun  in  the  ball-room,"  he  said. 
She  placed  her  hand  on  the  arm  of  her  partner  and 
went  out  with  him. 

When  the  dance  was  over,  she  was  amazed  to  see 
Lord  Stansford  still  in  the  room.  She  had  expected 
him  to  leave,  when  the  son  of  his  host  spoke  so 
insultingly  to  him,  but  the  young  man  had  not  de- 
parted. He  appeared  to  be  enjoying  himself  im- 
mensely, and  danced  through  every  dance  with  the 
utmost  devotion,  which  rather  put  to  shame  many  of 
the  young  men  who  lounged  against  the  walls;  never 
once,  however,  did  he  come  near  Miss  Linderham 
until  the  evening  was  well  on,  and  then  he  passed  her 
by  accident.  She  touched  him  on  the  arm  with  her 
fan,  and  he  looked  round  quickly. 

**0h,  how  do  you  do,  Miss  Linderham?"  he  said. 

**  Why  have  you  ignored  me  all  the  evening?"  she 
asked,  looking  at  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  I  haven't  ignored  you,"  he  replied,  with  some 
embarrassment ;  "  I  did  not  know  you  were  here." 

'*  Oh,  that  is  worse  than  ignoring,"  repliec*  Miss 
Linderham,  with  a  laugh ;  **  but  now  that  you  do  know 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD    281 


I  am  here,  I  wish  you  to  take  me  into  the  garden.  It 
is  becoming  insufferably  hot  in  here." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  getting  red  in  the  face, 
"  it  is  warm." 

The  girl  could  not  help  noticing  his  reluctance,  but 
nevertheless  she  took  his  arm,  and  they  passed  through 
several  rooms  to  the  terrace  which  faced  the  garden. 
Lord  Stansford's  anxious  eyes  again  seemed  to 
search  the  ro.  ms  through  which  they  passed,  and 
again,  on  encountering  those  of  Billy  Heckle,  Miss 
Linderham's  escort  shivered  slightly  as  he  passed  on. 
The  girl  wondered  what  mystery  was  at  the  bottom 
of  all  this,  and  with  feminine  curiosity  resolved  to 
find  out,  even  if  she  had  to  ask  Lord  Stansford  him- 
self. They  sauntered  along  one  of  the  walks  until 
they  reached  a  seat  far  from  the  house.  The  music 
floated  out  to  them  through  the  open  windows,  faint 
in  the  distance.  Miss  Linderham  sat  down  and  mo- 
tioned Lord  Stansford  to  sit  beside  her.  **  Now," 
she  said,  turning  her  handsome  face  full  upon  him, 
"  why  have  you  avoided  me  all  the  evening?" 

"I  haven't  avoided  you,"  he  said. 

"  Tut,  tut,  you  mustn't  contradict  a  lady,  you 
know.  I  want  the  reason,  the  real  reason,  and  no 
excuses." 

Before  the  young  man  could  reply,  Billy  Heckle, 
his  face  flushed  with  wine  or  anger,  or  perhaps  both, 
strode  down  the  path  and  confronted  them. 

"  I  gave  you  your  warning,"  he  cried. 

Lord  Stansford  sprang  to  his  feet ;  Miss  Linderham 
arose  also,  and  looked  in  some  alarm  from  one  young 
man  to  the  other. 


H' 


282 


REVENGE! 


r'l' 


8i' 


n  m 


"  Stop  a  moment,  Heckle  ;  don't  say  a  word,  and  I 
will  meet  you  where  you  like  afterwards,"  hurriedly 
put  in  his  lordship. 

**  Afterwards  is  no  good  to  me,"  answered  Heckle. 
**  I  gave  you  the  tip,  and  you  haven't  followed  it." 

"  I  beg  you  to  remember,"  said  Stansford,  in  a  low 
voice  with  a  tremor  in  it,  "  there  is  a  lady  present." 

Miss  Linderham  turned  to  go. 

"Stop  a  moment,"  cried  Heckle;  "do  you  know 
who  this  man  is?  " 

Miss  Linderham  stopped,  but  did  not  answer. 

"I'll  tell  you  who  he  is:  he  is  a  hired  guest.  My 
father  pays  five  guineas  for  his  presence  here  to-night, 
and  every  place  you  have  met  him,  he  has  been  there 
on  hire.  That's  the  kind  of  man  Lord  Stansford  is. 
I  told  you  I  should  expose  you.  Now  I  am  going  to 
tell  the  others." 

Lord  Stansford's  face  was  as  white  as  paper.  His 
teeth  were  clinched,  and  taking  one  quick  step  for- 
ward, he  smote  Heckle  fair  between  the  two  eyes  and 
felled  him  to  the  ground. 

"  You  cur !  "  he  cried.  "  Get  up,  or  I  shall  kick  you, 
and  hate  myself  ever  after  for  doing  it." 

Young  Heckle  picked  himself  up,  cursing  under  his 
breath. 

"I'll  settle  with  you,  my  man,"  he  cried  ;  "  I'll  get 
a  policeman.  You'll  spend  the  remainder  of  this  night 
in  the  cells." 

"  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  answered  Lord 
Stansford,  catching  him  by  both  wrists  with  an  iron 
grasp.  "  Now  pay  attention  to  me,  Billy  Heckle : 
you  feel  my  grip  on  your  wrist ;  you   felt  my  blow  in 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORlJ.  J83 

your  face,  didn't  you  ?  Now  you  go  into  the  house 
by  whatever  back  entrance  there  is,  go  to  your  room, 
wash  the  blood  off  your  face,  and  stay  there,  other- 
wise, by  God,  I'll  break  both  of  your  wrists  as  you 
stand  here,"  and  he  gave  the  wrists  a  wrench  that  made 
the  other  wince,  big  and  bulky  as  he  was. 

*'  I  promise,"  said  Heckle. 

"  Very  well,  see  that  you  keep  your  promise." 

Young  Heckle  slunk  away,  and  Lord  Stansford 
turned  to  Miss  Linderham,  who  stood  looking  on, 
speechless  with  horror  and  surprise. 

**  What  a  brute  you  are  !  "  she  cried,  her  under  lip 
quivering. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  Most  of  us  men  are 
brutes  when  you  take  a  little  of  the  varnish  off. 
Won't  you  sit  down,  Miss  Linderham?  There  is  no 
need  now  to  reply  to  the  question  you  asked  me  :  the 
incident  you  have  witnessed,  and  what  you  have 
heard,  has  been  its  answer." 

The  young  lady  did  not  sit  down  ;  she  stood  look- 
ing at  him,  her  eyes  softening  a  trifle. 

"  Is  it  true,  then  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  Is  what  true  ?  "  . 

**  That  you  are  here  as  a  hired  guest  ?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  true." 

**  Then  why  did  you  knock  him  down,  if  it  was  the 
truth?" 

**  Because  he  spoke  the  truth  before  you." 

**  I  hope,  Lord  Stansford,  you  don't  mean  to  imply 
that  I  am  in  any  way  responsible  for  your  ruffian- 
ism?" 

"You  are,  and  in  more  than  one  sense  of  the  word. 


'Ir 


i 


284 


REVENGE! 


That  young  fellow  threatened  me  when  I  came  here 
to-night,  knowing  that  I  was  his  father's  hired  guest ; 
I  did  not  wish  exposure,  and  so  I  avoided  you.  You 
spoke  to  me,  and  asked  me  to  bring  you  out  here. 
I  came,  knowing  that  if  Heckle  saw  me  he  would 
carry  out  his  threat.  He  has  carried  it  out,  and  I 
have  had  the  pleasure  of  knocking  him  down." 

Miss  Lindeiham  sank  upon  the  scat,  and  once  more 
motioned  with  her  fan  for  him  to  take  the  place  beside 
her. 

•*  Then  you  receive  five  guineas  a  night  for  appear- 
ing at  the  different  places  where  I  have  met  you  ?  " 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Stansford,  "  I  get  only 
two  guineas.  I  suppose  the  other  three,  if  such  is  the 
price  paid,  goes  to  my  employers." 

"  I  thought  Mr.  Heckle  was  your  employer  to- 
night ?  " 

**  I  mean  to  the  company  who  let  me  out,  if  I  make 
myself  clear ;  Spink  and  Company.  Telephone  100,- 
803.  If  you  should  ever  want  an  eligible  guest  for 
any  entertainment  you  give,  and  men  are  scarce,  you 
have  only  to  telephone  them,  and  they  will  send  me  to 
you.'' 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Miss  Linderham,  tapping  her  knee 
with  the  fan. 

"  It  is  only  justice  to  my  fellow  employes,"  contin- 
ued Lord  Stansford,  '*  to  say  that  I  believe  they  are 
all  eligible  young  men,  but  many  of  them  may  be  had 
for  a  guinea.  The  charge  in  my  case  is  higher  as  I 
have  a  title.  I  have  tried  to  flatter  myself  that  it  was 
my  polished,  dignified  manner  that  won  me  the  extra 
remuneration;     but   after  your   exclamation   on   my 


THE  EXrOSURL  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  285 

brutality  to-night,  I  am  afraid  I  must  fall  back  on  my 
title.  We  members  of  the  aristocracy  come  high,  you 
know." 

There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  the  girl  looked  up  at  him  and  said — 

"Aren't  you  ashamed  of  your  profession,  Lord 
Stansfoi  1?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lord  Stansford,  *'  1  am." 

*'  Then  why  do  you  follow  it  ?  " 

**  Why  does  a  man  sweep  a  street-crossing  ?  Lack 
of  money.  One  must  have  money,  you  know,  to  get 
along  in  this  world  ;  and  I,  alas,  have  none.  I  had  a 
little  once  ;  I  wanted  to  make  it  more,  so  gambled — 
and  lost.  I  laid  low  for  a  couple  of  years,  and  saw 
none  of  my  old  acquaintances ;  but  it  was  no  use, 
there  was  nothing  I  could  turn  my  hand  to.  This 
profession,  ^s  you  call  it,  led  me  back  into  my  old  set 
again.  It  is  true  that  many  of  the  houses  I  fre- 
quented before  my  disaster  overtook  me,  do  not  hire 
guests.  I  am  more  in  demand  by  the  new-rich,  like 
Heckle  here,  who,  with  his  precious  son,  does  not 
know  how  to  treat  a  guest,  even  when  that  guest  is 
hired." 

"But  I  should  think,"  said  Miss  Linderham,  "that 
a  man  like  you  would  go  to  South  Africa  or  Australia, 
where  there  are  great  things  to  be  done.  I  imagine, 
from  the  insight  I  have  had  into  your  character,  you 
would  make  a  good  fighter.  Why  don't  you  go  where 
fighting  is  appreciated,  and  where  they  do  not  call  a 
policeman?" 

"  I  have  often  thought  of  it.  Miss  Linderham,  but 
you  see,  to  secure  an  appointment,  one  needs  to  have 


Uii 


m 


m  Ti 


i 


i'l- 


286 


REVENGE! 


a  certain  amount  of  influence,  and  be  able  to  pass  ex- 
aminations. I  can't  pass  an  examination  in  anything. 
I  have  quarrelled  with  all  my  people,  and  have  no  in- 
fluence. To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  saving  up  money 
now  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  buy  an  outfit  to  go 
to  the  Cape." 

"  You  would  much  rather  be  in  London,  though,  I 
suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  had  a  reasonably  good  income." 

"Are  you  open  to  a  fair  offer?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  a  fair  offer  ?  " 

"  I  mean,  would  you  entertain  a  proposal  in  your 
present  line  of  business  with  increased  remuneration  ?  " 

The  young  man  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments  and 
did  not  look  at  his  companion.  When  he  spoke  there 
was  a  shade  of  resentment  in  his  voice. 

"I  thought  you  saw.  Miss  Linderham,  that  I  was 
not  very  proud  of  my  present  occupation." 

"  No,  but,  as  >  ou  said,  a  man  will  do  anything  for 
money." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  again  contradicting  you, 
but  I  never  said  anything  of  the  sort." 

"  I  thought  you  did,  when  you  were  speaking  of 
the  crossing-sweeping ;  but  never  mind,  I  know  a  lady 
who  has  plenty  of  money ;  she  is  an  artist  ;  at  least, 
she  thinks  she  is  one,  and  wishes  to  devote  her  life  to 
art.  She  is  continually  pestered  by  offers  of  mar- 
riage, and  :,he  knows  these  offers  come  to  her  largely 
because  of  her  money.  Now,  this  lady  wishes  to 
marry  a  man,  and  will  settle  upon  him  two  thousand 
pounds  a  year.  Would  you  be  willing  to  accept  that 
offer  if  I  got  you  an  introduction  ?  " 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  287 


"  It  would  depend  very  much  on  the  lady,"  said 
Stansford. 

"  Oh  no,  it  wouldn't ;  for  you  would  have  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  her,  except  that  you  would  be 
her  hired  husband.  She  wants  to  devote  herself  to 
painting,  not  to  you — don't  you  understand?  and  so 
long  as  you  did  not  trouble  her,  you  could  enjoy  your 
two  thousand  pounds  a  year.  You,  perhaps,  might 
have  to  appear  at  some  of  the  receptions  she  would 
give,  and  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  add  five  guineas 
an  evening  for  your  presence.  That  would  be  an  ex- 
tra, you  know." 

There  was  a  long  silence  between  them  after  Mag- 
gie Linderham  ceased  speaking.  The  young  man 
kicked  the  gravel  with  his  toes,  and  his  eyes  were  bent 
upon  the  path  before  him.  "  He  is  thinking  it  over," 
said  Miss  Linderham  to  herself.  At  last  Lord  Stans- 
ford looked  up,  with  a  sigh. 

"  Did  you  see  the  late  scuffle  between  the  unfortu- 
nate Heckle  and  myself?" 

"Did  I  see  it?"  she  asked.  "How  could  I  help 
seemg  it  ? 

"  Ah,  then,  did  you  notice  that  when  he  was  down 
I  helped  him  up  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  and  threatened  to  break  his  wrists  when  you 
got  him  up." 

**  Quite  so.  I  should  have  done  it,  too,  if  he  had 
not  promised.  But  what  I  wanted  to  call  your  atten- 
tion  to,  was  the  fact  that  he  was  standing  up  when  I 
struck  him,  and  I  want  also  to  impress  upon  you  the 
other  fact,  that  I  did  not  hit  him  when  he  was  down. 
Did  you  notice  that?  " 


^^^m 


288 


REVENGE! 


\m'^ 


1-  -^fi 


**  Of  course,  I  noticed  it.  No  man  would  hit 
another  when  he  was  down." 

"I  am  very  glad,  Miss  Linderham,  that  you  recog- 
nise it  as  a  code  of  honour  with  us  men,  brutes  as  we 
are.  Don't  you  think  a  woman  should  be  equally 
generous?" 

"Certainly;  but  I  don't  see  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean  this,  Miss  Linderham,  that  your  offer  is 
hitting  me  when  I'm  down." 

"  Oh !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Linderham,  in  dismay. 
"  I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  did  not  look  at  it  in 
that  light." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter  very  much,"  said  Stansford, 
rising  ;  "  it's  all  included  in  the  two  guineas,  but  I'm 
pleased  to  think  I  have  some  self-respect  left,  and 
that  I  can  refuse  your  lady,  and  will  not  become  a  hired 
husband  at  two  thousand  pounds  a  year.  May  I  see 
you  back  to  the  house.  Miss  Linderham?  As  you  are 
well  aware,  I  have  duties  towards  other  guests  who 
are  not  hired,  and  it  is  a  point  of  honour  with  me  to 
earn  my  money.  I  wouldn't  like  a  complaint  to  reach 
the  ears  of  Spink  and  Company." 

Miss  Linderham  rose  and  placed  her  hand  within 
his  arm. 

"Telephone,  what  number?"  she  asked. 

"  Telephone  100,803,"  he  answered.  **  I  am  sorry 
the  firm  did  not  provide  me  with  some  of  their  cards 
when  I  was  at  the  office  this  afternoon." 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  said  Miss  Linderham  ;  "  I  will 
remember,"  and  they  entered  the  house  together. 

Next  day,  at  a  large  studio  in  Kensington,  none  of 
the  friends  who  had  met  Miss  Linderham  at  the  ball 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  289 

the  evening  before  would  have  recognised  the  girl  ; 
not  but  what  she  was  as  pretty  as  ever,  perhaps  a 
little  prettier,  with  her  long  white  pinafore  and  her 
pretty  fingers  discoloured  by  the  crayons  she  was 
using.  She  was  trying  to  sketch  upon  the  canvas 
before  her  the  figure  of  a  man,  striking  out  from  the 
shoulder,  and  she  did  not  seem  to  have  much  success 
with  her  drawing,  perhaps  because  she  had  no  model, 
and  perhaps  because  her  mind  was  pre-occupied.  She 
would  sit  for  a  long  time  staring  at '  the  canvas,  then 
jump  up  and  put  in  lines  which  did  not  appear  to 
bring  the  rough  sketch  any  nearer  perfection. 

The  room  was  large,  with  a  good  north  window, 
and  scattered  about  were  the  numberless  objects  that 
go  to  the  confusing  make-up  of  an  artist's  workshop. 
At  last  Miss  Linderham  threw  down  her  crayon,  went 
to  the  end  of  the  room  where  a  telephone  hung,  and 
rang  the  bell. 

"Give  me,"  she  said,  "100,803." 

After  a  few  moments  of  waiting,  a  voice  came. 

"  Is  that  Spink  and  Company?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  madam,"  was  the  reply. 

"  You  have  in  your  employ  Lord  Stansford,  I 
think?" 

"  Yes,  madam." 

"  Is  he  engaged  for  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  No,  madam." 

"  Well,  send  him  to  Miss  Linderham,  No.  2,044, 
Cromwell  Road,  South  Kensington." 

The  man  at  the  other  end  wrote  the  address,  and 
then  asked — 

"  At  what  hour,  madam  ?  " 


290 


REVENGE! 


Mj."  .. 


"  I  want  him  from  four  till  six  o'clock."      , 
"  Very  well,  madam,  we  shall  send  him." 
"  Now,"  said  Miss  Linderham,  with  a  sigh  of  relief, 
"  I  can  have  a  model  who  will  strike  the  right  attitude. 
It  is  so  difficult  to  draw  from  memory." 

The  reason  why  so  many  women  fail  as  artists,  as 
well  as  in  many  other  professions,  may  be  because 
they  pay  so  much  attention  to  their  own  dress.  It  is 
an  astonishing  fact  to  record  that  Miss  Linderham 
sent  out  for  a  French  hairdresser,  who  was  a  most  ex- 
pensive man,  and  whom  she  generally  called  in  only 
when  some  very  important  function  was  about  to  take 
place. 

**  I  want  you,"  she  said,  "  to  dress  my  hair  in  an  ar- 
tistic way,  and  yet  in  a  manner  that  it  will  seem  as  if 
no  particular  trouble  had  been  taken.  Do  you  under- 
stand me  ?  " 

''  Ah,  perfectly,  mademoiselle,"  said  the  polite 
Frenchman.  "  You  shall  be  so  fascinating,  mademoi- 
selle, that " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Linderham,  "  that  is  what  I  want.* 
At  three  o'clock  she  had  on  a  dainty  gown.  The 
sleeves  were  turned  up,  as  if  she  were  ready  for  the 
most  serious  work.  The  spotless  pinafore  which 
covered  this  dress  had  the  most  fetching  little  frill 
around  it ;  all  in  all,  it  was  doubtful  if  any  studio  in 
London,  even  one  belonging  to  the  most  celebrated 
painter,  had  in  it  as  pretty  a  picture  as  Miss  Maggie 
Linderham  was  that  afternoon.  At  three  o'clock 
there  came  a  ring  at  the  telephone,  and  when  Miss 
Linderham  answered  the  call,  the  voice  which  she  had 
heard  before  said — 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  291 


of  relief, 
attitude. 

irtists,  as 
because 
ss.  It  is 
nderham 
most  ex- 
i  in  only 
[t  to  take 

in  an  ar- 
eem  as  if 
)u  under- 

le  polite 
■nademoi- 

:  I  want.' 
ivn.  The 
y  for  the 
e  which 
little  frill 
studio  in 
elebrated 
3  Maggie 
;  o'clock 
len  Miss 
1  she  had 


"I  am  very  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  madam,  but 
Lord  Stansford  resigned  this  afternoon.  We  could 
send  you  another  man  if  you  liked  to  have  him." 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  Miss  Linderham  ;  and  the  man  at 
the  other  end  of  the  telephone  actually  thought  she 
was  weeping. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  any  one  else.  It  doesn't  really 
matter." 

"  The  other  man,"  replied  the  voice,  "would  be 
only  two  guineas,  and  it  was  five  for  Lord  Stansford. 
We  could  send  you  a  man  for  a  guinea,  although  we 
don't  recommend  him." 

"No,"  said  Miss  Linderham,  "I  don't  want  any- 
body. I  am  glad  Lord  Stansford  is  not  coming,  as  the 
little  party  I  proposed  to  give,  has  been  postponed." 

"  Ah,  then,  when  it  does  come  off,  madam,  I 
hope- "  '     - 

But  Miss  Linderham  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  did 
not  listen  to  the  recommendations  the  man  was  send- 
ing over  the  wire  about  his  hired  guests.  The  chances 
are  that  Maggie  Linderham  would  have  cried  had 
it  not  been  that  her  hair  was  so  nicely,  yet  carelessly, 
done ;  but  before  she  had  time  to  make  up  her  mind 
what  to  do,  the  trim  little  maid  came  along  the  gallery 
and  down  the  steps  into  the  studio,  with  a  silver  salver 
in  her  hand,  and  on  it  a  card,  which  she  handed  to 
Miss  Linderham,  who  picked  up  the  card  and  read, 
"Richard  Stansford." 

"Oh,"  she  cried  joyfully,  "ask  h!  n  to  come  here." 

"Won't  you  see  him  in  the  drawing-room,  miss  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  tell  him  I  am  very  busy,  and  bring  him 
to  the  studio." 


' 


1 

1 

iifi 

:  r  1  :f 

mm 

i  '  ■ , 
i  ■' 

ii:; 

I 


292 


REVENGE! 


I;.  ''I 


The  maid  went  up  the  stair  again.  Miss  Linderham, 
taking  one  long,  careful  glance  at  herself,  looking 
over  her  shoulder  in  the  tall  mirror,  and  not  caring  to 
touch  her  wealth  of  hair,  picked  up  her  crayon  and 
began  making  the  sketch  of  the  striking  man  even 
worse  than  it  was  before.  She  did  not  look  round 
until  she  heard  Lord  Stansford's  step  on  the  stair, 
then  she  gave  an  exclamation  of  surprise  on  seeing 
him.  The  young  man  was  dressed  in  a  wide-awake 
hat,  and  the  costume  which  we  see  in  the  illustrated 
papers  as  picturing  our  friends  in  South  Africa.  All 
he  needed  was  a  belt  of  cartridges  and  a  rifle  to  make 
the  picture  complete. 

''This  is  hardly  the  dress  a  man  is  supposed  to 
wear  in  London  when  he  makes  an  afternoon  call  on 
a  lady,  Miss  Linderham,"  said  the  young  man,  with  a 
laugh,  "  but  I  had  either  to  come  this  way  or  not  at 
all,  for  my  time  is  very  limited.  I  thought  it  was  too 
bad  to  leave  the  country  without  giving  you  an 
opportunity  to  apologise  for  your  conduct  last  night, 
and  for  the  additional  insult  of  hiring  me  for  two 
hours  this  afternoon.     And  so,  you  see,  I  came." 

*'  I  am  veiy  glad  you  did,"  replied  Miss  Linderham. 
"  I  was  much  disappointed  when  they  telephoned  me 
this  afternoon  that  you  had  resigned.  I  must  say 
that  you  look  exceedingly  well  in  that  outfit,  Lord 
Stansford." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  casting  a  glance  over 
himself ;  "  I  am  compelled  to  admit  that  it  is  rather 
becoming.  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of  attracting  a 
good  deal  of  attention  as  I  came  along  the  street.'' 

"They  took  you  for  a  cowboy,  I  suppose?  " 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.  293 


inderham, 
f,  looking 
caring  to 
rayon  and 
nan  even 
•ok  round 
the  stair, 
on  seeing 
ide-awake 
illustrated 
rica.  All 
2  to  make 

pposed  to 
on  call  on 
an,  with  a 
'  or  not  at 
t  was  too 
you  an 
ast  night, 
I  for  two 

me. 

nderham. 
loned  me 
must  say 
fit,  Lord 

mce  over 
is  rather 
;racting  a 
reet.'' 


"  Well,  something  of  that  sort.  The  small  boy,  I 
regret  to  say,  was  so  unfeeling  as  to  sing  *  He's  got 
'em  on,'  and  other  ribald  ditties  of  that  kind,  which 
they  seemed  to  think  suited  the  occasion.  But  others 
looked  at  me  with  great  respect,  which  compensated 
for  the  disadvantages.  Will  you  pardon  the  rudeness 
of  Ta  pioneer,  Miss  Linderham,  when  I  say  that  you 
look  even  more  charming  in  the  studio  dress  than  you 
did  in  ball  costume,  and  I  never  thought  that  could  be 
possible?" 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  girl,  flushing,  perhaps,  because  the 
crimson  paint  on  the  palette  she  had  picked  up  re- 
flected on  her  cheek.  '*You  must  excuse  this  work- 
ing'garb,  as  I  did  not  expect  visitors.  You  see,  they 
telephoned  me  that  you  were  not  coming." 

The  deluded  young  man  actually  thought  this  state- 
ment was  correct,  which  in  part  it  was,  and  he  believed 
also  that  the  luxuriant  hair  tossed  up  here  and  there 
with  seeming  carelessness  was  not  the  result  of  an  art 
i^Y  superior  to  any  the  girl  herself  had  ever  put  upon 
canvas. 

"  So  you  are  off  to  South  Africa  ?  "  she  said. 

"Yes,  the  Cape." 

"  Oh,  is  the  Cape  in  South  Africa?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  so,"  replied  the  young  man,  some- 
what dubiously,  "  but  I  wouldn't  be  certain  about  it, 
though  the  steamship  company  guarantee  to  land  me 
at  the  Cape,  wherever  it  is." 

The  girl  laughed. 

"  You  must  have  given  it  a  great  deal  of  thought," 
she  said,  "  when  you  don't  really  know  where  you  are 
going." 


il. 


294 


REVENGE! 


"  Oh,  I  have  a  better  idea  of  direction  than  you 
give  me  credit  for.  I  am  not  such  a  fool  as  I  looked 
last  night,  you  know ;  then  I  belonged  to  Spink  and 
Company,  and  was  sublet  by  them  to  old  Heckle ; 
now  I  belong  to  myself  and  South  Africa.  That 
makes  a  world  of  difference,  you  know." 

"I  see  it  does,"  replied  Miss  Linderham.  "Won't 
you  sit  down  ?  " 

The  girl  herself  sank  into  an  armchair,  while  Stans- 
ford  sat  on  a  low  table,  swinging  one  foot  to  and  fro, 
his  wide-brimmed  hat  thrown  back,  and  gazed  at  the 
girl  until  she  reddened  more  than  ever.  Neither 
spoke  ior  some  moments. 

**  Do  you  know,"  said  Stansford  at  last,  "  that  when 
I  look  at  you  South  Africa  seems  a  long  distance 
away ! " 

"  I  thought  it  was  a  long  distance  away,"  said  the 
girl,  without  looking  up. 

'*  Yes ;  but  it's  longer  and  more  lonely  when  one 
looks  at  you.  By  Jove,  if  I  thought  I  couldn't  do 
^better,  I  would  be  tempted  to  take  that  two  thousand 
a  year  offer  of  yours  and " 

"  It  wasn't  an  offer  of  mine,"  cried  the  girl  hastily. 
"  Perhaps  the  lady  I  was  thinking  of  wouldn't  have 
agreed  to  it,  even  if  I  had  spoken  to  her  about  it." 

"  That  is  quite  true  ;  still,  I  think  if  she  had  seen 
me  in  this  outfit  she  would  have  thought  me  worth 
the  money." 

"  You  think  3;ou  can  make  more  than  two  thousand 
a  year  out  in  South  Africa?  You  have  become  very 
hopeful  all  in  a  moment.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  man 
who  thinks  he  can  make  two  thousand  a  year  is  very 


THE  EXPOSURE  OF  LORD  STANSFORD.   295 

foolish  to  let  himself  out  at  two  guineas  an  e^'en- 
ing. 

"  Do  you  know,  Miss  Linderham,  that  was  just 
what  I  thought  myself,  and  I  told  the  respectable 
Spink  so,  too.  I  told  him  I  had  had  an  offer  of  two 
thousand  a  year  in  his  own  line  of  business.  He  said 
that  no  firm  in  London  could  afford  the  money. 
'Why,*  he  cried,  waxing  angry,  '  I  could  get  a  Duke 
for  that.*  ** 

"  *  Well,'  I  replied,  *  it  is  purely  a  matter  of  business 
with  me.  I  was  offered  two  thousand  pounds  a  year 
as  ornamental  man  by  a  most  charming  young  lady, 
who  has  a  studio  in  South  Kensington,  and  who  is 
herself,  when  dressed  up  as  an  artist,  prettier  than  any 
picture  that  ever  entered  the  Royal  Academy  * ;  that's 
what  I  told  Spink.** 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him,  first  with  indignation  in 
her  eyes,  and  then  with  a  smile  hovering  about  her 
pretty  lips. 

"  You  said  nothing  of  the  sort,**  she  answered,  "  for 
you  knew  nothing  about  this  studio  at  that  time,  so 
you  see  I  am  not  going  to  emulate  your  dishonesty 
by  pretending  not  to  know  you  are  referring  to  me." 

"  My  dishonesty  !  *'  exclaimed  the  young  man,  with 
protest  in  his  voice.  **  I  am  the  most  honest,  straight- 
forward person  alive,  and  I  believe  I  would  take  your 
two  thousand  a  year  offer  if  I  didn't  think  I  could  do 
better." 

"  Where,  in  South  Africa  ?  " 

"  No,  in  South]^Kensington.  I  think  thatVhen  the 
lady  learns  how  useful  I  could  be  around  a  studio — 
oh,  I  could   learn   to  wash  brushes,   sweep   out   the 


296 


REVENGE! 


room,  prepare  canvases,  light  the  fire  ;  and  how  nicely 
I  could  hand  around  cups  of  tea  when  she  had  her 
*  At  Homes,'  and  exhibited  her  pictures !  When  she 
realises  this,  and  sees  what  a  bargain  she  is  getting, 
I  feel  almost  certain  she  will  not  make  any  terms  at 
all." 

The  young  man  sprang  from  the  tabic,  and  the  girl 
rose  from  her  chair,  a  look  almost  of  alarm  in  her  face. 
He  caught  her  by  the  arms. 

•*  What  do  you  think.  Miss  Linderham  ?  You  know 
the  lady.  Don't  you  think  she  would  refuse  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  a  cad  like  Billy  Heckle,  rich  as 
he  is,  and  would  prefer  a  humble,  hard-working  farmer 
from  the  Cape  ?  " 

The  girl  did  not  answer  his  question. 

*'  Are  you  going  to  break  my  arms  as  you  threat- 
ened to  do  his  wrists  last  night  ?  " 

*'  Maggie,"  he  whispered,  in  a  low  voice,  with  an- 
intense  ring  in  it,  '*  I  am  going  to  break  nothing  but 
my  own  heart  if  you  refuse  me." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile. 

"  I  knew  when  you  came  in  you  weren't  going  to 
South  Africa,  Dick,"  was  all  she  said  ;  and  he,  taking 
advantage  of  her  helplessness,  kissed  her. 


PURIFICATION. 


Eugene  Caspilier  sat  at  one  of  the  metal  tables 
of  the  Caf^  £galit<§,  allowing  the  water  from  the  carafe 
to  filter  slowly  through  a  lump  of  sugar  and  a  perfor- 
ated spoon  into  his  glass  of  absinthe.  It  was  not  an  ex- 
pression of  discontent  that  was  to  be  seen  on  the  face 
of  Caspilier,  but  rather  a  fleeting  shade  of  unhappiness 
which  showed  he  was  a  man  to  whom  the  world  was 
being  unkind.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  little 
round  table  sat  his  friend  and  sympathising  compan- 
ion, Henri  Lacour.  He  sipped  his  absinthe  slowly,  as 
absinthe  should  be  sipped,  and  it  was  evident  that  he 
was  deeply  concerned  with  the  problem  that  con- 
fronted his  comrade. 

"Why,  in  Heaven's  name,  did  you  marry  her? 
That,  surely,  was  not  necessary." 

Eugene  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  shrug  said 
plainly,  "  Why,  indeed?     Ask  me  an  easier  one." 

For  some  moments  there  was  silence  between  the 
two.  Absinthe  is  not  a  liquor  to  be  drunk  hastily,  or 
even  to  be  talked  over  too  much  in  the  drinking. 
Henri  did  not  seem  to  expect  any  other  reply  than 
the  expressive  shrug,  and  each  man  consumed  his 
beverage  dreamily,  while  the  absinthe,  in  return  for 
this  thoughtful  consideration,  spread   over  them   its 


298 


REVENGE! 


ml'  > 


■  f 


i  i 


-4 


m :-f 


benign  influence,  gradually  lifting  from  their  minds  all 
care  and  worry,  dispersing  the  mental  clouds  that 
hover  over  all  men  at  times,  thinning  the  fog  until  it 
disappeared,  rather  than  rolling  the  vapour  away,  as 
the  warm  sun  dissipates  into  invisibility  the  opaque 
morning  mists,  leaving  nothing  but  clear  air  all  round, 
and  a  blue  sky  overhead. 

"  A  man  must  live,"  said  Caspilier  at  last ;  "  and  the 
profession  of  decadent  poet  is  not  a  lucrative  one. 
Of  course  there  is  undying  fame  in  the  future,  but 
then  we  must  have  our  absinthe  in  the  present.  Why 
did  I  marry  her,  you  ask  ?  I  was  the  victim  of  my  en- 
vironment. I  must  write  poetry  ;  to  write  poetry,  I 
must  live  ;  to  live,  I  must  have  money  ;  to  get  money, 
I  was  forced  to  marry.  Valdoreme  is  one  of  the  best 
pastry-cooks  in  Paris  ;  is  it  my  fault,  then,  that  the 
Parisians  have  a  greater  love  for  pastry  than  for 
poetry  ?  Am  I  to  blame  that  her  wares  are  more 
sought  for  at  her  shop  than  are  mine  at  the  book- 
sellers' ?  I  would  willingly  have  shared  the  income 
of  the  shop  with  her  without  the  folly  of  marriage, 
but  Valdoreme  has  strange,  barbaric  notions  which 
were  verturnable  by  civilised  reason.     Still  my 

ar'  tS  not  wholly  mercenary,  nor   indeed  mainly 

s  1  here  was  a  rhythm  about  her  name  that  pleased 
me.  Then  she  is  a  Russian,  and  my  country  and  hers 
were  at  that  moment  in  each  other's  arms,  so  I  pro- 
posed to  Valdoreme  that  we  follow  the  national  ex- 
ample. But,  alas  !  Henri,  my  friend,  I  find  that 
even  ten  years'  residence  in  Paris  will  not  eliminate 
the  savage  from  the  nature  of  a  Russian.  In  spite  of 
the  name  that  sounds  like  the  soft  flow  of  a  rich  mel- 


PURIFICATION. 


299 


low  wine,  my  wife  is  little  better  than  a  barbarian. 
When  I  told  her  about  Tenise,  she  acted  like  a  mad 
woman — drove  me  into  the  streets." 

"But  why  did  you  tell  her  about  Tenise  ?  " 
"  Pourquoi  ?  How  I  hate  that  word  !  Why !  Why ! ! 
Why  ! ! !  It  dogs  one's  actions  like  a  bloodhound, 
eternally  yelping  for  a  reason.  It  seems  to  me  that 
all  my  life  I  hr.ve  had  to  account  to  an,  inquiring  why. 
I  don't  know  why  I  told  her ;  it  did  not  appear  to  be 
a  matter  requiring  any  thought  or  consideration.  I 
spoke  merely  because  Tenise  came  into  my  mind  at 
the  moment.  But  after  that,  the  deluge  ;  I  shudder 
when  I  think  of  it." 

,  "  Again  the  why  ?  "  said  the  poet's  friend.  "  Why 
not  cease  to  think  of  conciliating  your  wife?  Rus- 
sians are  unreasoning  aborigines.  Why  not  take  up 
life  in  a  simple  poetic  way  with  Tenise,  and  avoid  the 
Rue  de  Russie  altogether?" 

Caspilier  sighed  gently.  Here  fate  struck  him  hard. 
"  Alas !  my  friend,  it  is  impossible.  Tenise  is  an 
artist's  model,  and  those  brutes  of  painters  who  get 
such  prices  for  their  daubs,  pay  her  so  little  each 
week  that  her  wages  would  hardly  keep  me  in  food 
and  drink.  My  paper,  pens,  and  ink  I  can  get  at  the 
caf^s,  but  how  am  I  to  clothe  myself?  If  Valdoreme 
would  but  make  us  a  small  allowance,  we  could  be  so 
happy.  Valdoreme  is  madame,  as  I  have  so  often 
told  her,  and  she  owes  me  something  for  that ;  but  she 
actually  thinks  that  because  a  man  is  married  he 
should  come  dutifully  home  like  a  bourgeois  grocer. 
She  has  no  poetry,  no  sense  of  the  needs  of  a  lit- 
erary man,  in  her  nature." 


i 


30O 


REVENGE! 


Lacour  sorrowfully  admitted  that  the  situation  had 
its  embarrassments.  The  first  glass  of  absinthe  did 
not  show  clearly  how  they  were  to  be  met,  but  the 
second  brought  bravery  with  it,  and  he  nobly  offered 
to  beard  the  Russian  lioness  in  her  den,  explain  the 
view  Paris  took  of  her  unjustifiable  conduct,  and,  if 
possible,  bring  her  to  reason. 

Caspilier's  emotion  overcame  him,  and  he  wept 
silently,  while  h'  friend,  in  eloquent  language,  told 
how  famous  authors,  whose  names  were  France's 
nroudest  possession,  had  been  forgiven  by  their  wives 
for  slight  lapses  from  strict  domesticity,  and  these 
instances,  he  said,  he  would  recount  to  Madame  Val- 
doreme,  and  so  induce  her  to  follow  such  illustrious 
examples. 

The  two  comrades  embraced  and  separated ;  the 
friend  to  use  his  influence  and  powers  of  persuasion 
with  Valdoreme ;  the  husband  to  tell  Tenise  how 
blessed  they  were  in  having  such  a  friend  to  intercede 
for  them  ;  for  Tenise,  bright  little  Parisienne  that  she 
was,  bore  no  malice  against  the  unreasonable  wife  of 
her  lover. 

Henri  Lacour  paused  opposite  the  pastry-shop  on 
the  Rue  de  Russie  that  bore  the  name  of  "  Valdoreme  " 
over  the  temptingly  filled  windows.  Madame  Cas- 
pilier  had  not  changed  the  title  of  her  well-known 
shop  when  she  gave  up  her  own  name.  Lacour 
caught  sight  of  her  serving  her  customers,  and  he 
thought  she  looked  more  like  a  Russian  princess  than 
a  shopkeeper.  He  wondered  now  at  the  preference 
of  his  friend  for  the  petite  black-haired  model. 
Valdoreme  did  not  seem  more  than  twenty ;  she  was 


PURIFICATION. 


301 


large,  and  strikingly  handsome,  with  abundant  auburn 
hair  that  was  ^almost  red.  Her  beautifully  moulded 
chin  denoted  perhaps  too  much  firmness,  and  was  in 
striking  contrast  to  the  weakness  of  her  husband's 
lower  face.  Lacour  almost  trembled  as  she  seemed  to 
flash  one  look  directly  at  him,  and,|for  a  moment,  he 
feared  she  had  seen  him  loitering  before  the  window. 
Her  eyes  were  large,  of  a  limpid  amber  colour,  but 
deep  within  them  smouldered  a  fire  that  Lacour  felt 
he  would  not  care  to  see  blaze  up.  His  task  now 
wore  a  different  aspect  from  what  it  had  worn  in  front 
of  the  Cafe  Egalite.  Hesitating  a  moment,  he  passed 
the  shop,  and,  stopping  at  a  neighbouring  caf6,  ordered 
another  glass  of  absinthe.  It  is  astonishing  how 
rapidly  the  genial  influence  of  this  stimulant  departs! 

Fortified  once  again,  he  resolved  to  act  before  his 
courage  had  time  to  evaporate,  and  so,  goading  him- 
self on  with  the  thought  that  no  man  should  be  afraid 
to  meet  any  woman,  be  she  Russian  or  civilised,  he 
entered  the  shop,  making  his  most  polite  bow  to 
Madame  Caspilier. 

"  I  have  come,  madame,"  he  began,  "  as  the  friend 
of  your  husband,  to  talk  with  you  regarding  his 
affairs." 

"Ah!  "said  Valdoreme  ;  and  Henri  saw  with  dis- 
may the  fires  deep  down  in  her  eyes  rekindle.  But 
she  merely  gave  some  instructions  to  an  assistant,  and, 
turning  to  Lacour,  asked  him  to  be  so  good  as  to 
follow  her. 

She  led  him  through  the  shop  and  up  a  stair  at  the 
back,  throwing  open  a  door  on  the  first  floor.  Lacour 
entered  a  neat  drawing-room,  with  windows  opening 


302 


REVENGE! 


out  upon  the  street.  Madame  Caspilier  seated  herself 
at  a  table,  resting  her  elbow  upon  it,  shading  her  eyes 
with  her  hand,  and  yet  Lacour  felt  them  searching  his 
very  soul. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said.  "  You  are  my  husband's 
friend.     What  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

Now,  it  is  a  difficult  thing  for  a  man  to  tell  a  beau- 
tiful woman  that  her  husband — for  the  moment — pre- 
fers some  one  else,  so  Lacour  began  on  generalities. 
He  said  a  poet  might  be  likened  to  a  butterfly,  or  per- 
haps to  the  more  industrious  bee,  who  sipped  honey 
from  every  flower,  and  so  enri  led  the  world.  A  poet 
was  a  law  unto  himself,  and  should  not  be  judged 
harshly  from  what  might  be  termed  a  shopkeeping 
point  of  view.  Then  Lacour,  warming  to  his  work, 
gave  many  instances  where  the  wives  of  great  men 
had  condoned  and  even  encouraged  their  husbands* 
little  idiosyncrasies,  to  the  great  augmenting  of  our 
most  valued  literature. 

Now  and  then,  as  this  eloquent  man  talked,  Valdo- 
reme's  eyes  seemed  to  flame  dangerously  in  the 
shadow,  but  the  woman  neither  moved  nor  interrupted 
him  while  he  spoke.  When  he  had  finished,  her  voice 
sounded  cold  and  unimpassioned,  and  he  felt  with 
relief  that  the  outbreak  he  had  feared  was  at  least 
postponed. 

"  You  would  advise  me  then,"  she  began,  "  to  do  as 
the  wife  of  that  great  novelist  did,  and  invite  my  hus- 
band and  the  woman  he  admires  to  my  table?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  say  I  could  ask  you  to  go  so  far  as 
that,"  said  Lacour ;  "  but " 

"  I'm  no  halfway  woman.     It  is  all  or  nothing  with 


PURIFICATION. 


303 


me.     If   I  invited   my  husband  to   dine   with   me,  I 

would  also  invite  this  creature What  is  her  name  ? 

Tenise,  you  say.  Well,  I  would  invite  her  too.  Does 
she  know  he  is  a  married  man  ?  " 

"Yes,"  cried  Lacour  eagerly  ;  "but  I  assure  you, 
madame,  she  has  nothing  but  the  kindliest  feelings 
towards  you.     There  is  no  jealousy  about  Tenise." 

"  How  good  of  her !  How  very  good  of  her  !  "  said 
the  Russian  woman,  with  such  bitterness  that  Lacour 
fancied  uneasily  that  he  had  somehow  made  an  inju- 
dicious remark,  whereas  all  his  efforts  were  concen- 
trated in  a  desire  to  conciliate  and  please. 

"Very  well,"  said  Valdoreme,  rising.  "You  may 
tell  my  husband  that  you  have  been  successful  in 
your  mission.  Tell  him  that  I  will  provide  for  them 
both.  Ask  them  to  honour  me  with  their  presence  at 
breakfast  to-morrow  morning  at  twelve  o'clock.  If 
he  wants  money,  as  you  say,  here  are  two  hundred 
francs,  which  will  perhaps  be  sufficient  for  his  wants 
until  midday  to-morrow." 

Lacour  thanked  her  with  a  profu^^e  graciousness 
that  would  have  delighted  any  ordinary  giver,  but 
Valdoreme  stood  impassive  like  a  tragedy  queen,  and 
seemed  only  anxious  that  he  should  speedily  take  his 
departure,  now  that  his  errand  was  done. 

The  heart  of  the  poet  was  filled  with  joy  when  he 
heard  from  his  friend  that  at  last  Valdoreme  had  come 
to  regard  his  union  with  Tenise  in  the  light  of  reason. 
Caspilier,  as  he  embraced  Lacour,  admitted  that 
perhaps  there  was  something  to  be  said  for  his  wife 
after  all. 

The  poet  dressed  himself  with  more  than  usual  care 


304 


REVENGE! 


'on  the  day  of  the  feast,  and  Tenise,  who  accompanied 
him,  put  on  some  of  the  finery  that  had  been  bought 
with  Valdoreme's  donation.  She  confessed  that  she 
thought  Eugene's  wife  had  acted  with  consideration 
towards  them,  but  maintained  that  she  did  not  wish  to 
meet  her,  for,  judging  from  Caspilier's  account,  his 
wife  must  be  a  somewhat  formidable  and  terrifiying 
person ;  still  she  went  with  him,  she  said,  solely 
through  good  nature,  and  a  desire  to  heal  family 
differences.  Tenise  would  do  anything  in  the  cause 
of  domestic  peace. 

The  shop  assistant  told  the  pair,  when  they  had 
dismissed  the  cab,  that  madame  was  waiting  for  them 
upstairs.  In  the  drawing-room  Valdoreme  was  stand- 
ing with  her  back  to  the  window  like  a  low-browed 
goddess,  her  tawny  hair  loose  over  her  shoulders,  and 
the  pallor  of  her  face  made  more  conspicuous  by  her 
costume  of  unrelieved  black.  Caspilier,  with  the 
grace  characteristic  of  him,  swept  off  his  hat,  and  made 
a  low,  deferential  bow ;  but  when  he  straightened 
himself  up,  and  began  to  say  the  complimentary  things 
and  poetical  phrases  he  had  put  together  for  the 
occasion  at  the  caf^  the  night  before,  the  lurid  look  of 
the  Russian  made  his  tongue  falter  ;  and  Tenise,  who 
had  never  seen  a  woman  of  this  sort  before,  laughed 
a  nervous,  half-frightened  little  laugh,  and  clung 
closer  to  her  lover  than  before.  The  wife  was  even 
more  forbidding  than  she  had  imagined.  Valdoreme 
shuddered  slightly  when  she  saw  this  intimate  move- 
ment on  the  part  of  her  rival,  and  her  hand  clenched 
and  unclenched  convulsively. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  cutting  short  her  husband's  halt- 


mmm 


PURIFICATION. 


305 


ing  harangue,  and  sweeping  past  them,  drawing  her 
skirts  aside  on  nearing  Tenise,  she  led  the  way  up  to 
the  dining-room  a  floor  higher. 

"I'm  afraid  of  her,"  whimpered  Tenise,  holding 
back.     "  She  will  poison  us." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Caspilier,  in  a  whisper.  "  Come 
along.  She  is  too  fond  of  me  to  attempt  anything 
of  that  kind,  and  you  are  safe  when  I  am  here." 

Valdoreme  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  with  her 
husband  at  her  right  hand  and  Tenise  on  her  left. 
The  breakfast  was  the  best  either  of  them  had  ever 
tasted.  The  hostess  Sr  i  silent,  but  no  second  talker 
was  needed  when  the  poet  was  present.  Tenise 
laughed  merrily  now  and  then  ac  his  bright  sayings, 
for  the  excellence  of  the  meal  had  banished  her  fears 
of  poison. 

"What  penetrating  smell  is  this  that  fills  the 
room?     Better  open  the  window,"  said  Caspilier. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  replied  Valdoreme,  speaking  for 
the  first  time  since  they  had  sat  down.  "  It  is  only 
naphtha.  I  have  had  this  room  cleaned  with  it.  The 
window  won't  open,  and  if  it  would,  we  could  not 
hear  you  talk  with  the  noise  from  the  street." 

The  poet  would  suffer  anything  rather  than  have 
his  eloquence  interfered  with,  so  he  said  no  more 
about  the  fumes  of  naphtha.  When  the  coffee  was 
brought  in,  Valdoreme  dismissed  the  trim  little  maid 
who  had  waited  on  them. 

"  I  have  some  of  your  favourite  cigarettes  here.  I 
will  get  them." 

She  arose,  and,  as  she  went  to  the  table  on  which 
the   boxes   lay,   she   quietly   and    deftly   locked   the 


300 


REVENGE! 


door,  and,  pulling  out   the  key,  slipped   it   into   her 
pocket. 

"  Do  you  smoke,  mademoiselle  ?  "  she  asked,  speak- 
ing to  Tenise.  She  had  not  recognised  her  presence 
before. 

"Sometimes,  madame,"  answered  the  girl,  with  a 
titter. 

"You  will  find  these  cigarettes  excellent.  My  hus- 
band's taste  in  cigarettes  is  better  than  in  many 
things.     He  prefers  the  Russian  to  the  French." 

Caspilier  laughed  loudly. 

"  That's  a  slap  at  you,  Tenise,"  he  said. 

"  At  me  ?  Not  so  ;  she  speaks  of  cigarettes,  and  I 
myself  prefer  the  Russian,  only  they  are  so  expen- 
sive. 

A  look  of  strange  eagerness  came  into  Valdoreme's 
expressive  face,  softened  by  a  touch  of  supplication. 
Her  eyes  were  on  her  husband,  but  she  said  rapidly  to 
the  girl — 

"Stop  a  moment,  mademoiselle.  Do  not  light 
your  cigarette  until  I  give  the  word." 

Then  to  her  husband  she  spoke  beseechingly  in 
Russian,  a  language  she  had  taught  him  in  the  early 
months  of  their  marriage. 

"  Eugenio,  Eugenio !  Don't  you  see  the  girl's  a 
fool?  How  can  you  care  for  her?  She  would  be  as 
happy  with  the  first  man  she  met  in  the  street.  I — I 
think  only  of  you.     Come  back  to  me,  Eugenio." 

She  leaned  over  the  table  towards  him,  and  in  her 
vehemence  clasped  his  wrist.  The  girl  watched  them 
both  with  a  smile.  It  reminded  her  of  a  scene  in 
an  opera  she  had  heard  once  in  a  stran^  j  language. 


PURIFICATION. 


307 


The  prima  donna  had  looked  and  pleaded  like  Valdo- 
reme. 

Caspilier  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  did  not  with- 
draw his  wrist  from  her  firm  grasp. 

**  Why  go  over  the  whole  weary  ground  again  ?  "  he 
said.  "If  it  were  not  Tenise,  it  would  be  somebody 
else.  I  was  never  meant  for  a  constant  husband,  Val. 
I  understood  from  Lacour  that  we  were  to  have  no 
more  of  this  nonsense." 

She  slowly  relaxed  her  hold  on  his  unresisting 
wrist.  The  old,  hard,  tragic  look  came  into  her  face 
as  she  drew  a  deep  breath.  The  fire  in  the  depths  of 
her  amber  eyes  rekindled,  as  the  softness  went  out  of 
them. 

"You  may  light  your  cigarette  now,  mademoiselle," 
she  said  almost  in  a  whisper  to  Tenise. 

"  I  swear  I  could  light  mine  in  your  eyes,  Val.," 
cried  her  husband.  "  You  would  make  a  name  for 
yourself  on  the  stage.  I  will  write  a  tragedy  for  you, 
and  we  will " 

Tenise  struck  the  match.  A  simultaneous  flash  of 
lightning  and  clap  of  thunder  filled  the  room.  The 
glass  in  the  window  felii  clattering  into  the  street. 
Valdoreme  was  standing  with  her  back  against  the 
door.  Tenise,  fluttering  her  helpless  little  hands  be- 
fore her,  tottered  shrieking  to  the  broken  window. 
Caspilier,  staggering  panting  to  his  feet,  gasped — 

"  You  Russian  devil !     The  key,  the  key  !  " 

He  tried  to  clutch  her  throat,  but  she  pushed  him 
back. 

"  Go  to  your  Frenchwoman.     She's  calling  for  help." 

Tenise  sank  by  the  window,  one  burning  arm  over 


^1 


308 


REVENGE  I 


the  sill,  and  was  silent.  Caspilier,  mechanically  beat- 
ing back  the  fire  from  his  shaking  head,  whimpeiing 
and  sobbing,  fell  against  the  table,  and  then  went 
headlong  on  the  floor. 

Valdorcmc,  a  pillar  of  fire,  swaying  gently  to  and 
fro  before  the  door,  whispered  in  a  voice  of  agony — 

"  Oh,  Eugene,  Eugene ! "  and  flung  herself  like  a 
flaming  angel — or  fiend — on  the  prostrate  form  of  the 
man. 


IN  THE  MIDST  OF  ALARMS. 


ally  beat- 
limpeilng 
hen  went 

ly  to  and 
igony— 
elf   like  a 
rm  of  the 


By  ROBERT  BARR, 

A  delightful  story  of  the  trip  of  a  New  York  correspondent  and  a 
college  professor  into  Canada  at  the  time  of  the  Fenian  invasion.  They 
are  captured*  and  have  numerous  amusing  adventures*  both  finally 
falling  victims  to  Cupid*         ,^        j^        ^       jIt        j^       j^        j^ 

From  several  hundred  press  notices*  here  and  in  England*  where  this 
book  has  met  with  great  success*  the  following  are  takiui :         ^       «^ 

"  Theauthor  isa  born  story-teller  ^  and  his  thorough-going  Americanism 
is  engaging  to  the  last  degree." — Portland  Oregonian. 

*'  A  rattling  comedy." — Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  IVe  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  Mr.  Barr,  in  these  days  of  decadence, 
of  word  twisting,  and  of  microscopic  raking  in  the  mind,  for  a  straight- 
forward narrative,  fresh  in  its  locality  and  incident,  quaint  in  its 
humor,  and  dealing  with  real  men  and  women,  who  express  themselves 
in    speech    and    action   with    unmistakable    individuality." — London 

ATHENi^NUM. 

"  There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  whole  volume." — Utica  Press. 

"  //  is  a  gem  of  the  story-tellers  art." — Davenport  Democrat. 

"  The  spirit  and  sparkling  wit  that  pervades  this  tale  makes  it 
deservedly  popular.  The  characters  ketching  is  delightful." — H  ARTFORD 
Post. 

"  Out  of  the  avalanche  of  trash  cast  on  the  reviewer's  table  during  the 
present  period  of  the  super-emotional,  would-be-i-.dvanced,  and  '  new 
woman '  novel,  it  is  a  pleasure  to  pick  up  a  book  like  '  In  the  Midst  of 
Alarms,^  by  Robert  Barr.  One  quality  gives  Mr.  Bart's  stories  a  prime 
flavor — his  observation  of  the  minute  details,  and  the  environments  of 
the  life  and  the  people  he  depicts,  as  where  the  frolicsome  reporter  helps  the 
pretty  Canadian  country  girl  make  soft  soap." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  A  very  readable  and  clever  story ." — New  York  Sun. 

"  Everyone  must  read  'In  the  Midst  of  Alarms,*  by  Robert  Barr.  It 
is  a  pity  that  more  of  such  books  do  not  exist.  It  is  but  just  to  say  that 
this  little  novel  is  one  of  the  choicest  of  the  season." — Chicago  Herald. 

For  Sale  by  All  Booksellers*  or  Sent  Postpaid* 

^^^        C^^        ^^ 

FREDERICK  A*  STOKES  COMPANY,  Poblishers, 

27  and  29*  West  23d  Street*  New  Yofk. 


ONE  ESTIMATE  OF  MR.  BARR 

^^PF  ^^^  ^^Wf 

Mr»  Julian  Ralph,  the  well-known  magazine 
writer  and  newspaper  correspondent,  writes  of 
Mr,  Barr  as  f oflows  \       ^       ^       j^        ^ 


"  You  have  read  his  short  stories,  of  course,  now  gathered  together 
in  a  book  called  *  The  Face  and  the  Mask.'  If  so,  you  remember  'The 
Bruiser's  Courtship,'  and  '  The  Typewritten  Letter.'  Everybody  talks 
of  them,  and  they  are  good,  but  the  story  that  made  me  stand  right  up 
and  bow  to  the  man  is  that  one  in  which  he  depicts  the  conditions  on  board 
a  transatlantic  liner  that  has  a  hold  full  of  burning  cotton.  It  is  so 
clever  that  you  scarcely  believe  it  can  be  done,  even  after  you  have  read  it. 
You  are  made  to  share  the  interest  of  the  passengers  in  a  silly  case  of  petty 
rivalry  between  two  women,  whilt ,  at  the  same  time,  you  obtain  a  secret 
and  startling  knowledge  that  all  the  passengers  are  being  carried  along  on 
top  of  a  volcano  that  may  belch  at  any  instant.  You  draivan  easy  breath 
when  a  sister  ship  is  hailed  and  stops  her  engines,  as  you  think,  to  rescue 
your  ship  full  of  acquaintances. 

"  But,  Heavens  !  She  is  in  even  a  worse  plight,  and  Death  is  astride 
her  pr 07V,  also  I  Nobody  knows  all  this  but  you  and  the  officers  of  the 
two  ships,  and  ivhen  both  are  rescued  it  all  comes  out — as  nobody  else 
ever  zvould  have  thought  of  bringing  it  out — in  the  'Ah,  really  ;  do  tell !  ' 
sort  of  chatter  of  two  frivolous  persons  who  meet  on  the  shore.  Did  you 
read  the  story?  I  really  think  there  is  more  skill,  more  imagination, 
and  more  genius  in  that  little  trifle  than  in  many  a  fat  novel  that  lias 
made  a  sensation  in  the  last  two  years.  *  ♦  * 

'"In  the  Midst  of  Alarms  '  is  nothing  but  the  story  of  a  story-teller, 
a  born  story-teller,  who  comes  swinging  into  your  library  with  a  head 
full  of  fun  and  lively  spirits  and  good  nature,  blended  with  a  very  cun- 
ning knack  at  repartee  and  bright  dialogue.  You  are  never  for  an  in- 
stant bored  or  sorry  or  ashamed  that  he  came.  You  can  introduce  him 
to  anyone,  and  he  will  roll  up  the  curtain  before  his  stage  and  set  his 
characters  moving  through  his  charming  comedy  before  the  children  are 
sent  to  bed,  quite  as  fittingly  as  when  the  old  man  is  alone  in  the  library, 
cigar  in  hand,  and  feet  upon  a  second  chair." 


iR 


lagazine 
rites  of 


ed  together 
mber  *  The 
ybody  talks 
i  right  up 
ns  on  board 
t.  It  is  so 
we  read  it. 
xse  of  petty 
'in  a  secret 
d  along  on 
msy  breath 
k,  to  rescue 

!  is  astride 
cers  of  the 
nobody  else 
;  do  tell!  ' 
Did  you 
igination, 
I  that  has 

'ory-teller, 
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oduce  him 
nd  set  his 
ildren  are 
'■e  library. 


